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THE 


WRECKER'S    DAUGHTER 


AND    OTHER  TALES 


THE  FOREST,  THE  SHORE,  AND  THE  OCEAN. 


BY  CHARLES  P.  ILSLEY,  ESQ, 


BOSTON: 
ALBERT  COLBY  AND  COMPANY, 

20    WASHINGTON     STREET. 
1860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  o^  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

JOHN     P.     JEWETT     AND     CO., 

lu  the  Clerk's  Off.oe  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  MassachusettB. 


AMERICAN     STEREOTYPE     COMPANY. 
28   PUCENIX  BCILDINO,  BOSTOS.       ,?. 


90 

THE  SONS  AND  DAUGHTERS  OF  MAINE, 

WHERKYEB    FOUND, 

THIS     VOLUIklE, 

CONTAININQ 

TRADITIONARY  TALES  OF  THE  OLD  PINE-TREE  STATE, 
IS   RESPECTFULLY   TXSGRTRED, 

B  T 

THE    AUTHOR. 


PREFACE 


It  certainly  was  not  tho  intention  of  the  author, 
when  writing  the  stories  contained  in  this  volume,  to 
give  them  to  the  public  in  the  present  shape.  Writ- 
ten under  the  pressure  of  manifold  duties,  the  most 
that  he  anticipated  for  them  was  a  brief  newspaper 
immortality  —  a  passing  notice  and  oblivion.  Much 
to  his  surprise,  however,  many  of  them  have  con- 
tinued to  float  on  the  current  of  popular  favor ;  and 
by  the  advice,  repeatedly  received,  not  only  from 
friends  but  strangers,  he  has  been  induced  to  make 
the  present  collection. 

The  tales,  it  will  be  perceived,  are  mostly  of  a  tra- 
ditionary character,  although  some  of  them  must  be 
received  with  liberal  grains  of  allowance.  We  make 
this  remark  because  a  lady  writer,  now  deceased,  in 
encouraging  the  author  to  continue  his  legendary 
tales,  wrote  of  them  as  follows :  "  They  will  be  valu- 
able to  the  future  historian,  perhaps,  more  than  they 
deserve ;  for  the  sober,  truth-telling  air  of  your  legends 
will  expose  them  to  being  ranked  side  by  side  with 
1* 


VI  PREFACE. 

veritable  history.  And/'  she  added,  with  perhaps  not 
a  little  truth;  "they  will  doubtless  have  as  good  a 
claim  to  be  so  considered  as  much  that  has  come  down 
to  us  as  history  from  remote  antiquity." 

The  stories  founded  on  the  history  of  the  early  set- 
tlement of  our  State  are  entitled  to  more  credence 
than  those  the  scenes  of  which  are  laid  on  our  sea- 
coast.  An  exception  should  be  made  here  in  favor  of 
"  The  Liberty  Pole,"  a  tale  of  Machias.  All  the  inci- 
dents of  that  sketch  are  purely  historical. 

It  has  not  been  so  much  the  aim  of  the  writer  to 
portray  character  as  to  describe  scenes  and  detail 
incidents,  in  doing  which  he  flatters  himself  that  he 
has  avoided  exaggeration.  He  is  not  aware  that  his 
pages  inculcate  any  particular  lesson,  but  he  feels  per- 
fectly assured  that  they  contain  not  a  word  offensive 
to  the  purest  morality.     Such  as  they  are,  he  submits 

them  to  the  public. 

C.  P.  I. 
Portland,  April,  1856. 


CONTENTS 


ThkWreckbr'sDalgjitkr,          .        .        .  ,        9 

ThbScout, 113 

TheLigHT- KEEPER,.           .           .           's'           •  •      223 

ThbSettlers, 258 

TheLibertyPole,                   .        .        .        .  .    347 

TheStormatSea 369 

TheOanadianCaptive, 390 


THE  WRECKER'S  DAUGHTER 


CHAPTER    I. 

Along  its  solitary  shore 

Of  craggy  rock  and  sandy  bay, 

No  sound  but  ocean's  roar, 
Save  where  the  bold,  wild  sea-bird  makes  her  home, 
Her  shrill  cry  coming  through  the  sparkling  foam. 

Dana. 

The  scene  to  which  we  would  introduce  the  reader 
is  one  in  which  nature  exhibits  herself  in  her  wildest 
aspect.  Far  along  as  the  eye  can  discern,  on  either 
hand,  stretches  a  bleak,  rocky  shore,  whitened  by  the 
foam  of  the  rough  Atlantic,  which  chafes  perpetually 
against  its  jagged  boundaries.  Here  and  there  a  few 
stunted  pines,  springing  up  on  some  headland,  and 
scattered  patches  of  grass,  dry  and  brown  from  the 
poverty  of  the  soil,  serve  rather  to  heighten  than 
relieve  the  dreariness  of  the  scene.  In  clear  weather, 
under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  the  view  is 
not  one  on  which  the  eye,  fond  of  the  beautiful,  would 
delight  to  dwell;  much  less  attractive  is  it  in  the 
gloom  of  the  storm,  when  nothing  is  heard  but  the 
hoarse  voice  of  the  waves  as  they  beat  against  the 
cavernous  shore,  the  strong  rush  of  the  gale,  and  the 
shrill  cry  of  the  sea-bird  mingling  with  the  elemental 


10  FORKST    AND    SHORE. 

uproar,  and  nothing  seen  but  the  black,  sunken  ledges 
that  line  at  intervals  the  entire  coast,  hidden  at  times 
by  the  sparkling  foam,  the  stern,  craggy  cliffs,  and  the 
gray,  barren  heath.  And  yet  there  is  something  in  the 
gloomy  grandeur  of  the  scene  which  often  wins  my 
steps  to  its  neighborhood. 

Amid  such  an  uninviting  display  one  would  scarcely 
look  for  signs  of  human  life,  more  especially  at  the 
period  of  which  we  write.  And  yet  they  were  to  be 
found.  At  one  spot  the  shore  abruptly  recedes,  in- 
denting the  coast  for  some  distance,  forming  a  deep 
and  rather  broad  cove,  its  sides  lined  with  rugged  and 
precipitous  rocks,  but  the  bight  terminating  in  a  steep 
shingly  beach,  the  apex  of  which,  owing  to  the  wash 
of  the  sea,  is  considerably  higher  than  the  adjoining 
main-land.  Close  in  shore  the  rooks  on  one  side  of 
the  cove  jut  out  some  distance;  then,  falling  back  at  a 
sharp  angle,  a  snug  little  bay  is  formed,  where,  in  the 
roughest  weather,  a  small  craft  might  ride  with  safety. 
Leaving  the  shingles  you  pass  over  a  broad  belt  com- 
posed of  fine  white  sand,  intermixed  with  innumerable 
tiny  shells,  and  enter  on  a  stony  patch  of  some  half 
dozen  acres,  hemmed  in  with  huge  rocky  fragments, 
in  the  crevices  and  along  the  sides  of  which  dwarf 
trees  may  be  seen,  standing  in  every  possible  attitude 
save  a  perpendicular.  Here  and  there  dark  scraggy 
bushes  may  be  found,  almost  devoid  of  verdure, 
although  the  greenness  of  summer  be  abroad. 

On  this  desolate  spot  were  erected  three  or  four 
huts,  ill-looking  shanties,  built  of  various  materials, 
the  foundations  composed  of  boulders  clumsily  piled, 
and  the  sides  and  roofs  of  plank  and  board,  the  dark 
stains  and  paint  on  which   showed  them  to  be   frag- 


THE   WliECKEK'S   DAUGHTER.  11 

ments  of  wrecks.  The  aspect  of  these  dwellings  was 
in  perfect  keeping  with  the  place  in  which  they  were 
located.  From  the  fish  which  were  spread  out  on 
rude  flakes  near  most  of  the  huts,  one.  would  infer 
that  the  occupants  were  fishermen.  This  was  indeed 
their  caUing  in  part,  although  a  glance  at  the  inside  of 
the  habitations  would  lead  one  to  the  conclusion  that 
fishing  was  not  their  only  pursuit.  From  the  rough, 
unpromising  exterior,  one  would  look  for  a  correspond- 
ing interior.  But,  instead  of  scant  and  rudely  made  fur- 
niture, a  visitor  would  have  been  surprised  to  find  the 
apartments  comfortably  furnished,  with  quite  a  show 
of  gentility.  More  particularly  would  this  have  been 
observed  in  one  of  the  huts,  which  stood  a  little  apart 
from  the  rest,  in  a  more  choice  situation,  if  there  could 
be  a  choice  in  such  a  place,  and  which  appeared  supe- 
rior to  the  others  in  many  respects. 

The  painted  and  panelled  double  door,  evidently 
taken  from  the  state-room  of  some  vessel,  would  first 
attract  the  attention.  Entering  this,  one  would  be 
struck  with  the  singular  aspect  of  the  rooms,  all  of 
them  being  finished  and  furnished  something  after  the 
manner  of  a  ship's  cabin.  In  the  centre  of  the  largest 
room,  fastened  to  the  floor,  stood  a  heavy  mahogany 
table.  Around  the  sides  of  the  room  ran  a  boxed 
seat  fixed  similar  to  a  transom.  The  walls  consisted 
of  panelled  boards,  one  perhaps  painted  green,  its 
mate  white,  and  a  third  deeply  stained  to  resemble 
mahogany.  Suspended  around  the  walls  were  various 
nautical  instruments,  sextants,  spy-glasses,  barometers, 
and  a  number  of  rolls  of  charts,  together  with  one  or 
two  rusty  muskets,  grainse,  &c.  The  bedrooms,  four 
iu  number,  were  finished  in  about   the  same  manner. 


12  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Instead  of  bedsteads,  bunks  or  berths  were  fixed  up 
as  on  shipboard. 

One  of  these  apartments  was  quite  tastefully  ar- 
ranged, the  berth  being  neatly  curtained,  the  sheets 
and  pillow-cases  of  spotless  linen,  the  window  hung 
with  a  fringed  drapery,  and  the  walls  ornamented  with 
a  mirror  set  in  a  handsomely-gilded  frame,  while  the 
floor  was  covered  with  Venetian  carpeting.  There 
was  adjoining  this  a  small  room,  fitted  up  with  a  few 
shelves  containing  a  small  supply  of  books.  The 
furnishing  of  this  room  evidently  showed  that  it  was 
intended  for  a  sort  of  boudoir^  —  if  such  a  fashionable 
term  may  be  used  in  connection  with  so  humble  a 
dwelling. 

This  remote  and  obscure  hamlet  was  the  abode  of  a 
small  gang  of  wreckers  and  fishermen  combined,  —  the 
latter  calling  being  followed  when  the  former  failed 
them.  The  company  consisted  of  six  or  seven  men, 
and  it  must  be  confessed,  from  their  general  appear- 
ance and  bearing,  one  would  be  apt  at  first  to  cherish 
rather  an  unfavorable  opinion  of  their  characters.  A 
more  intimate  acquaintance  with  them,  however,  would 
serve  to  do  away  with  this  impression. 

The  captain  or  chief  of  the  band  was  a  man  whose 
^gray  locks  and  weather-beaten  face  told  of  years  of 
toil  and  exposure,  perhaps  of  sujffering.  He  was  a 
strong,  hale  man,  nevertheless,  and  there  was  a  light 
in  his  eye  and  a  sprightliness  in  his  movements  that 
spoke  of  vigor  unwasted  and  nerves  well  strung.  The 
remainder  of  the  crew  were  of  various  ages,  all  but  one 
ranging  past  the  meridian  of  life.  This  individual, 
known  by  the  name  of  Antonio,  was  a  young  man  of 
perhaps  twenty-three, -^  a  hardy-looking   fellow,  not 


THE  WKECKEli's  DAUGHTER.  13 

wanting,  despite  his  swarthy  face  and  unshaven  locks, 
in  indications  of  manly  beauty.  There  was  in  his 
countenance,  withal,  an  expression  that  would  lead  one 
to  prefer  him  rather  as  a  friend  than  an  enemy.  He 
was  of  Spanish  descent,  as  his  name  indicated,  although 
from  early  life  he  had  lived  among  Americans. 

Save  the  females  in  the  family  of  the  leader,  none 
of  the  gentler  sex  were  to  be  found  in  this  hamlet ;  and 
of  these  two  we  shall  speak  hereafter. 


CHAPTER    II. 

Soft  as  the  memory  of  a  buried  love, 

Pure  as  the  prayer  that  childhood  wafts  above. 

Was  she,  the  daughter  of  that  rude  old  chief. 

Byron. 

Late  one  afternoon,  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  at  the 
time  our  story  opens,  two  persons  were  standing  by 
the  open  door  of  the  dwelling  whose  interior  we  have 
described,  which  was  occupied  by  the  leader  of  the 
crew,  gazing  towards  the  sea,  which  was  fast  rough- 
ening under  a  smart  north-easter.  They  w^ere  both 
females  —  one  of  them  considerably  past  the  prime  of 
life.  The  somewhat  masculine  proportions  of  the" 
eldest  of  the  two,  together  with  her  wrinkled  and  sun- 
burnt visage,  set  off  by  thin  gray  locks  and  an  elfish- 
looking  cap,  gave  her  at  first  sight  rather  a  repulsive 
appearance;  but  the  gentle  and  affectionate  glances 
that  she  directed  toward  her  companion,  and  the  mild 
tone  with  which  she  addressed  her,  were  proofs  that 
a  warm  heart  was  concealed  beneatli  that  rugged 
exterior. 

2 


14  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

Her  companion  was  a  maiden  of  about  eighteen 
summers ;  her  figure  was  very  symmetrical,  exhibiting 
a  healthy,  though  by  no  means  a  coarse,  physical 
development.  Dark  chestnut  hair,  arranged  with  a 
native  grace,  surmounted  a  countenance  of  more  than 
common  beauty,  rendered  more  striking,  perhaps,  by 
the  contrast  exhibited  in  her  companion.  Exposure 
had  thrown  a  slight  shade  of  brown  on  her  skin,  but 
where  her  dress  interposed  as  a  veil,  it  was  of  a  clear 
and  almost  snowy  whiteness.  Eyes  large,  full,  and 
intelligent,  shaded  by  long  lashes,  a  slightly  oval  face, 
through  the  warm  tinge  of  which  the  rich  blood  could 
be  seen  mantling,  an  exquisitely-formed  mouth  and 
clear  red  lips,  around  which,  like  sunshine  on  fruit,  an 
arch  smile  loved  to  Hnger,  a  neck  beautifully  propor- 
tioned, and  a  full,  swelling  bust,  —  a  model  for  a 
statue,  —  formed  the  maiden's  charming  contour. 

Could  it  be  that  so  lovely  a  bud  was  an  ofi'-shoot 
from  so  graceless  a  stalk?  that  so  rare  a  flower  had 
sprung  up  amid  this  wilderness  of  rocks  —  been  nur- 
tured among  the  rugged  plants  which  surrounded  it? 
Even  so,  in  the  by-places  of  this  world,  amid  the  sterile 
roughness  of  humanity,  we  sometimes  find  grace, 
beauty  and  intellect  so  predominant,  as  if  nature 
sought  a  favored  object  on  which  to  lavish  her  gifts, 
that  she  might  not  be  without  a  witness  of  her  lovely 
and  beautiful  creations. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  are  going  to  have  a  severe  gale,'' 
said  the  eldest  of  the  females,  as  she  cast  an  anxious 
gknce  seaward ;  "  the  wind  increases  in  violence  and 
the  sea  rises  fast.     I  wish  the  schooner  would  return." 

''Had  I  not  better  go  on  to  the  headland,  mother ? " 


THE  AVRECKER'S  DAUGHTER.  15 

replied  the  younger  female ;  "  perhaps  I  may  see  her 
in  the  offing.'' 

"  Yes,  go,  my  dear  child,  and  take  the  glass  with 
you.  I  feel  anxious  about  her,  for  it  is  growing  dark 
fast,  and  it  will  be  a  bad  night  to  be  out  in." 

The  young  girl  entered  the  door  for  the  glass,  and 
then,  throwing  her  apron  over  her  head,  she  started 
for  the  high  bluff  which  springs  up  at  the  eastern 
entrance  of  the  cove,  skipping  from  rock  to  rock  w^ith 
the  grace  and  lightness  of  the  mountain  chamois. 

^^  If  I  see  them,  mother,"  she  said,  on  leaving,  "  I 
will  wave  my  handkerchief  as  a  signal." 

In  a  short  time,  although  the  path  was  difficult,  she 
stood  on  the  beetling  cliff,  gazing  from  its  dizzy 
height  with  unshaken  nerve.  From  that  elevated 
point  she  had  a  full  view  of  the  ocean.  The  scene 
was  not  new  to  the  maiden,  yet  she  could  not  gaze 
upon  the  world  of  waters  spread  before  her,  rolling 
in  from  the  outer  deep  with  an  unbroken  swell,  and 
dashing  against  the  base  of  the  headland  with  a  noise 
like  continuous  thunder,  without  a  thrilHng  sense  of 
the  grandeur  and  awful  sublimity  of  the  scene.  She 
was  not  one  of  those,  common  as  was  the  sight,  who 
can  gaze  with  an  indifferent  eye  and  unaffected  heart 
on  such  an  exhibition  as  was  there  presented ;  and,  as 
the  huge  billows  rushed  madly  in  and  beat  upon  the 
opposing  barrier,  and  were  thrown  back  in  clouds 
of  foam,  a  sense  of  His  omnipotence  who  has  said, 
^'  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther,"  touched  the 
deepest  chords  of  her  soul,  awakening  emotions  which 
she  could  not  define  or  shape  into  expression. 

For  hours  had  she  stood  gazing,  as  at  present,  on  a 
scene  like  this,  silent  and  spell-bound,  the  working  of 


16  FOREST   A^^D    SHORE. 

her  countenance  betraying  the  agitation  of  hoi  mind. 
Alas  !  the  key  to  that  inner  sanctuary  might  never  be 
applied,  and  its  hoarded  treasure  never  brought  to  the 
light.  Her  mind  was  like  a  hidden  fountain,  gushing 
with  pure  waters,  but  wasting  its  crystal  currents  in 
dark  channels  and  murmuring  unheard  its  subterranean 
music.  Shall  not  the  clods  be  removed,  and  the  bright 
stream,  sparkling  in  the  sunbeams,  flow  gladly  forth 
with  its  rippling  melody  ? 

Some  time  elapsed,  so  absorbed  was  the  maiden  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  scene,  ere  the  nature  of  her 
errand  occurred  to  her,  when,  raising  the  glass  to  her 
eye,  and  slowly  sweeping  the  misty  horizon,  she  hastily 
turned  toward  the  house  and  suffered  her  handkerchief 
to  flutter  in  the  breeze.  Afar  off,  heading  for  the  cove, 
she  caught  sight  of  the  object  of  her  search.  The 
vessel  was  a  small  fore-and-aft  schooner,  and  was 
under  a  heavy  press  of  sail,  notwithstanding  the  gusts 
came  stronger  and  stronger  and  the  sea  ran  higher 
and  higher  every  moment.  She  was  evidently  a  fine 
sea  boat,  and  bore  herself  bravely,  riding  lightly  the 
heavy  billows  and  nearing  rapidly  the  shore. 

"  I  must  kindle  a  fire  on  the  Head,"  said  the  maiden, 
as  she  gazed  at  the  struggling  vessel ;  "  they  will  want 
a  beacon-light  to  guide  them  before  they  reach  the 
land." 

The  daylight  was  fast  disappearing,  and,  feeling 
assured  that  it  would  be  entirely  dark  before  the 
vessel  could  make  the  harbor,  the  maiden,  like  one 
accustomed  to  the  business,  commenced  collecting 
the  brush  which  was  scattered  around  the  place  and 
heaping  it  in  a  mass  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Having 
formed  quite  a  pile,  she  started  toward  the  house. 


n 

whence  she  shortly  returned  with  a  flaming  pitch  knot. 
By  this  time,  night  had  shut  in,  hiding  the  little  craft 
from  sight,  and  leaving  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the 
sparkling  of  the  spray  as  it  was  thrown  up  along  the 
shore,  and  the  occasional-  cap  of  a  distant  wave,  the 
crest  of  foam  flashing  for  a  moment  above  the  black 
billow  like  the  lurid  gleam  we  sometimes  see  playing 
on  the  edge  of  the  thunder-cloud. 

Carefully  guarding  her  light,  the  wrecker's  daughter 
bent  down  and  kindled  the  pile  of  brush  at  its  base. 
Immediately  a  bright  flame  shot  crackling  above  the 
heap,  followed  by  a  dense  volume  of  smoke,  shrouding 
the  light  in  its  thick  folds  and  threatening  to  choke 
the  fire.  The  strong  wind,  however,  soon  fanned  the 
whole  mass  into  a  brilliant  blaze.  At  times,  the 
tongues  of  flame  would  shoot  high  in  the  air,  whirled 
about  by  the  breeze,  illuminating  the  surrounding 
scenery,  and  bringing  out  the  neighboring  cliffs  in 
bold  relief,  while  the  crested  waves  would  catch  the 
lurid  reflection  afar  off,  seeming  as  if  wreathed  with 
fire.  At  other  times  they  would  bend  low,  as  if 
licking  the  earth,  darting  serpent-like  beneath  and 
amidst  the  heavy  black  smoke  that  curled  above  them, 
while  a  tenfold  gloom  and  darkness  seemed  to  settle 
upon  the  troubled  deep.  The  effect  of  this  beacon- 
fire —  light  and  shade  thus  alternating  —  was  as 
singular  as  it  was  imposing,  heightened  as  it  was  by 
,the  deafening  roar  of  the  sea  and  the  strong  rush  of 
the  gale.  Conspicuous  on  the  headland,  as  the  light 
flashed  upon  her  form,  stood  the  young  girl,  like  some 
beautiful  enchantress,  gazing  delighted  upon  the  scene 
which  her  own  magic  had  wrought. 
2* 


18  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Far  o'er  the  watery  waste  a  beacon-light 
Beams  its  bright  welcome  to  the  seaman's  sight ; 
Exultant  now  he  marks  the  whirling  foam, 
Nor  heeds  the  growing  storm  —  that  light 
Guides  to  his  home. 

"  A  BLESSING  on  that  girl ! "  said  the  old  skipper,  as 
he  stood  at  the  helm  of  his  little  craft,  directing  her 
through  the  wallowing  sea;  "  a  blessing  on  that  girl !  " 
he  repeated  more  fervently,  as  his  eye  caught  the  first 
glare  of  the  distant  fire  that  served  as  a  guide  to  his 
course. 

"What  light  is  that?''  asked  a  young  man  in  a 
feeble  voice.  The  speaker  was  closely  wrapped  in  a 
shaggy  overcoat,  lent  him  by  the  captain,  and  stood 
by  the  side,  or  rather  reclined  on  the  companion-way, 
near  the  binnacle. 

"  That  hght  is  kindled  on  Gull's  Head,  at  the  star- 
board entrance  of  the  cove,"  answered  the  old  man, 
"  and  by  as  fair  a  lass,  young  sir,  though  I  say  it,  as 
e'er  graced  a  prince's  hall.     A  blessing  on  her,  say  I." 

"  Your  daughter,  I  presume  ?  "  said  his  young  com- 
panion. 

"  She  calls  me  father,  ay,"  replied  the  old  man,  with 
a  little  hesitation,  "  and  never  had  parent  more  reason 
to  pride  himself  on " 

"Are  you  sure  the  light  is  kindled  on  the  Gull's 
Head  ? "  said  one  of  the  crew,  interrupting  the  enco- 
miums of  the  old  man.  "  If  it  is  on  the  Hawk's  Nest 
we  shall  hardly  weather  Dead  Man's  ledge,  if  you 
steer  your  present  course." 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  19 

"  Sure  ! "  said  the  aged  helmsman,  "  ay,  my  life  on 
Nell's  forethought.  She  has  too  much  good  sense  to 
kindle  a  fire  to  leeward  on  such  a  night  as  this,  know- 
ing where-away  we  are.  But  keep  a  sharp  look-out 
for'ard,"  he  continued,  as  he  bent  a  searching  gaze  on 
the  distant  beacon.  "  A  bad  ledge,  sir,  a  bad  ledge  is 
that,  with  a  bad  name.  It  stretches  here-away,  about 
half  a  league  from  the  Hawk's  Nest,  —  the  name  given 
to  a  broad  shelf  that  laps  out  from  the  larboard  cliff, 
as  we  enter  the  cove." 

The  young  man  with  whom  this  conversation  was 
held  was  not,  as  the  reader  will  infer,  one  of  the  crew. 
The  wreckers  had  been  on  a  cruise,  during  which  they 
had  providentially  fallen  in  with  a  stranded  ship,  some 
leagues  down  the  coast,  from  which,  with  much  diffi- 
culty and  risk,  this  young  man  was  rescued.  He  was 
a  passenger,  and  the  only  one  saved,  all  the  rest,  pas- 
sengers and  crew,  having  been  swept  off  ere  the 
WTeck  was  discovered.  The  survivor  was  not  rescued 
a  moment  too  soon,  for  he  was  nearly  insensible  and 
entirely  helpless  when  fallen  in  with,  and,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  old  man,  he  would  probably  have  been 
left  to  his  fate.  At  the  imminent  risk  of  his  life,  he 
boarded  the  wreck  and  took  the  sufferer  off.  Owing 
to  the  heavy  sea  that  was  running,  and  the  threaten- 
ing appearance  of  the  weather,  they  abandoned  the 
vessel  without  attempting  to  save  anything  from  her. 

"  Whence  did  the  ledge  you  mentioned  derive  its 
name  ?  "  inquired  the  young  man,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"It  has  always  borne  that  name  since  my  knowl- 
edge," replied  the  old  man.  "  There  is  a  tradition 
among  the  few  dwellers  on  this  coast,  that  in  the 
olden  time   a  gallant  ship,  driven  in  by   stress   of 


20  FOREST   AKD   SHORE. 

weather,  struck  on  this  reef  in  the  night  and  was 
shattered,  so  that  when  morning  came  not  a  speck 
was  to  be  seen  of  her.  One  man  alone,  of  all  her 
crew,  was  found  when  the  tide  receded,  cold  and  stiff, 
clinging  with  a  death-grasp  to  the  kelp  and  sea-weed 
growing  on  the  ledge,  and  swinging  about  with  the 
wash  of  the  sea.  Ever  since,  it  is  said,  when  the  tem- 
pest is  abroad,  through  the  livelong  night  his  lone 
wail  can  be  heard  mingling  with  the  tumult  of  the 
gale.  We  are  nearing  the  spot  now,  young  man,'^ 
added  the  old  skipper,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice.  "  Look 
yonder  —  you  can  see  it  break  under  our  lee-bow. 
Listen !  there  should  be  wailings  from  Dead  Man's 
ledge  to-night,  if  ever.  I  have  often  heard  them  in 
the  pauses  of  the  gale." 

The  old  man  bent  his  head,  while  his  companion 
gave  an  involuntary  shudder  as  he  cast  a  glance  on 
the  long  line  of  foam  a  short  distance  to  the  leeward, 
along  the  very  edge  of  which  the  little  craft  was  dash- 
ing with  the  speed  of  the  wind  ;  but  it  was  not  from 
a  dread  of  hearing  supernatural  cries.  He  shuddered 
when  he  thought  of  the  dangers  he  had  passed 
through,  and  of  the  certain  fate  which  must  have 
awaited  him  had  he  been  exposed  to  the  fearful  storm 
now  gathering.  He  thought,  too,  of  the  companions 
of  his  voyage,  now  dashed  about  by  the  turbulent  sea, 
or  thrown,  mangled  corpses,  on  the  rock-bound  shore. 
Fortunately,  among  them  he  had  to  mourn  no  kindred 
lost,  no  friendly  tie  broken.  As  they  approached 
nearer  the  shore,  and  the  breakers  sounded  more 
loudly  in  his  ears,  still  more  vividly  was  he  impressed 
with  the  horrors  of  the  scenes  through  which  he  had 
passed,  and  a  prayer  of  gratitude  went  up  to  Him 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  21 

who  had  vouchsafed  his  'deliverance.  He  was  aroused 
from  this  silent  communion  by  a  shout  from  the  old 
man,  and  on  looking  up  he  found  the  vessel  was  in 
the  close  neighborhood  of  the  cliff,  on  the  summit  of 
which  blazed  the  bright  beacon. 

"  Thanks,  my  brave  girl !  thanks  for  your  light !  " 
shouted  the  old  man,  gazing,  as  he  spoke,  towards  the 
burning  pile. 

The  young  man  turned  his  eyes  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. At  first  the  glare  of  the  flames  dazzled  them  so 
he  could  not  discern  any  other  object ;  but  in  a  mo- 
ment he  discovered  the  person  addressed.  Standing, 
as  it  appeared  to  him,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff, 
which  sunk  sheer  to  the  sea  a  hundred  feet  or  more, 
he  detected  the  graceful  outlines  of  a  female  figure. 
In  her  hand  she  held  a  blazing  brand,  which  she 
waved  two  or  three  times  in  the  air,  while  "  Welcome 
back !  "  came  down  from  the  dizzy  height  in  sweetly 
musical  tones.  Once  more  swinging  her  torch  in  the 
air,  she  turned  and  darted  from  the  spot,  bearing  with 
her  the  flaming  brand.  The  young  man  followed  with 
his  eyes  the  light  as  it  flashed  along  the  maiden's 
path.  One  moment  it  seemed  to  run  along  the  very 
brink  of  the  tall  clifi*s  —  the  next  it  would  curve  in- 
ward from  the  cove  —  now  the  light  would  pass 
quickly  down  some  sharp  descent  —  now  seem  to  rise 
with  less  rapidity  —  one  moment  approaching,  the 
next  receding,  until  it  at  last  faded  and  flickered  to  a 
dim  twinkle,  and  then  suddenly  disappeared.  Mean- 
while, the  sails  having  been  lowered  and  furled,  the 
schooner  rounded  the  point  we  have  described,  where 
she  was  protected  from  the  rough  weather,  and  was 
shortly  moored  in  safety. 

We  will  not  stop  to  portray  the  emotions   of  the 


22  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

young  niaPx  as  he  once  more  placed  his  foot  on  the 
land.  Chastened  joy  mingled  with  sadness  were  his 
first  feelings,  soon,  however,  succeeded  by  a  deep,  all- 
pervading  sense  of  thankfulness  and  praise. 

As  he  stood  apart,  leaning  against  a  huge  rocky 
fragment  that  had  once  formed  a  portion  of  the  tall 
cliff  that  frowned  threateningly  above  him,  scanning 
with  a  bewildered  gaze  the  blackened  sky  and  the 
stern  scene  faintly  revealed  around  him,  while  the 
crew  arranged  the  boat  for  the  night,  the  wrecker's 
daughter,  still  bearing  the  burning  brand,  came  trip- 
ping down  to  the  shore,  and,  skipping  on  to  a  narrow 
shelving  rock  that  jutted  over  the  tide,  extended  her 
light  so  as  to  facilitate  the  work  of  the  men,  while 
hearty  greetings  were  interchanged,  her  sweet  voice 
and  merry  laugh  calling  forth  lively  echoes  from  the 
gloomy  caverns  and  dark  clefts  of  the  surrounding 
rocks. 

The  young  man,  unobserved  himself,  had  a  full  view 
of  her  person.  He  gazed  upon  her  wondrous  beauty, 
rapt  in  astonishment.  The  grace  of  her  attitude,  as 
she  bent  forward  with  her  torch,  the  animation  of 
her  countenance,  glowing  with  health  and  exercise, 
the  very  disarrangement  of  her  dress,  which  served 
more  fully  to  reveal  her  charms,  rivetted  the  eyes  of 
the  youth  upon  her.  The  encomiums  of  the  old  man 
recurred  to  his  mind,  which  he  had  imputed  to  a 
parent's  fondness,  but  his  heart  now  confessed  that 
princely  hall  never  was  graced  with  a  fairer  being. 
He  thought  of  those  flattering  lines  of  the  poet,  and 
here  found  their  application  : 

"  Her  eyes,  her  lips,  her  cheeks,  her  shapes,  her  features. 
Seem  to  be  drawn  by  Love's  own  hand  ;  by  Love, 
Himself  in  love." 


THE    wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  23 

Half  doubting  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses, 
hardly  knowing  whether  the  lovely  creature  before 
him  were  an  inhabitant  of  earth  or  a  being  of  a 
brighter  sphere,  and  completely  fascinated  with  her 
surprising  charms,  an  involuntary  exclamation  burst 
from  the  young  man's  lips. 

The  maiden  started  as  the  murmured  exclamation 
met  her  ear,  and,  turning  the  light  of  her  torch  in  his 
direction,  made  a  movement  of  surprise,  as  she  dis- 
covered him,  a  rich  blush  at  the  instant  stealing  over 
her  neck  and  face.  Her  father  noticed  the  action,  and 
then  bethought  him  he  had  not  informed  her  of  the 
stranger's  presence. 

"  A  young  gentleman,"  said  he,  in  a  sort  of  intro- 
ductory way,  "  whom  we  were  so  fortunate  as  to  save 
from  a  wreck  this  morning ;  and  you  had  better  show 
him  to  the  house,  Nell,  for  a  dry  shelter  and  a  warm 
bed  would  better  befit  his  weak  state  than  this  damp 
night  air,  and  these  cold,  wet  stones.  Never  mind 
your  light,  —  we  can  do  well  enough  now  without  it.'^ 

^'  I  was  not  aware  of  your  presence,  sir,"  said  the 
maiden,  stepping  towards  the  young  man  in  a  free  and 
unembarrassed  manner.  "  You  haye  been  unfortu- 
nate," she  continued,  in  a  tone  of  unaffected  kindness, 
while  her  features  expressed  the  deepest  sympathy 
as  she  gazed  upon  the  pale  countenance  of  the 
stranger ;  "  you  have  been  unfortunate,  and  perhaps 
need  assistance.  Permit  me  to  show  you  to  the 
house;"  and  with  a  tact  and  delicacy  he  little  dreamed 
of  meeting  in  this  remote  and  wild  spot,  she  carefully 
guided  him  over  the  broken  and  difficult  way.  There 
was  that  in  her  tone  and  manner,  a  warmth,  tender- 
ness and  frankness,  an  absence  of  that  awkward  shy- 


24  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

ness,  and  of  those  coarse  manifestations  of  kindness 
sometimes  met  with,  and  withal  a  propriety  of  lan- 
guage, that  astonished  the  young  stranger  almost  as 
much  as  did  her  unequalled  and  bewildering  beauty. 


CHAPTER   lY. 

Dreams  in  their  development  have  breath, 
And  tears,  and  tortures,  and  the  touch  of  joy. 

Bteon. 
There  is  a  fair  behavior  in  thee,  captain. 
And  though  that  nature  with  a  beauteous  wall 
Doth  oft  close  in  pollution,  yet  of  thee 
I  will  believe  thou  hast  a  mind  that  suits 
With  this  thy  fair  and  outward  character. 

Shakspeare. 

Warm  and  unbounded  was  the  hospitality  which 
awaited  the  stranger  at  the  wrecker's  dwelling.  A 
glowing  fire  lent  its  cheering  influence  to  bestow  an 
air  of  comfort  to  the  strange-looking  apartment,  which 
contrasted  strongly  with  the  forbidding  aspect  of  the 
exterior  of  the  hut.  The  constant  yet  unobtrusive 
attentions  of  the  wrecker's  family  were  as  grateful  to 
the  heart  of  the  new-comer  as  they  were  conducive  to 
his  bodily  comfort.  After  a  shght  repast,  worn  and 
wearied  with  the  scenes  he  had  passed  through,  he 
gladly  sought  his  couch.  Fatigue  soon  induced  sleep, 
but  it  was  a  restless  one.  There  was  no  rest  to 
his  mind,  though  slumber  pressed  heavily  on  his  eye- 
lids.    The  poet  Maturin  describes  his  state, — 

*'  He  sleeps,  if  it  be  sleep  —  this  starting  trance. 
Whose  feverish  tossings  and  deep  muttered  groang 
Do  prove  the  soul  shares  not  the  body's  rest." 


THE   WRECKER'S   DAUGHTER.  25 

His  excited  fancy  had  placed  him  again  on  the 
stranded  wreck,  and  the  rocking  and  grinding  of  the 
vessel  and  the  incessant  beating  of  the  spray  were 
again  felt.  The  waves  again  boiled  in  fury  around 
him,  and  their  deafening  roar  was  in  his  ear.  He  felt 
the  broad  billows  lifting  the  huge  hulk  upon  their 
backs;  then  came  the  dreadful  shock  as  it  settled 
down  on  the  sharp  rocks,  the  dark  wave  bursting  in 
a  deluge  of  foam  around  him. 

Yet  ever  amid  the  gloom  and  terror  of  that  fearful 
scene  there  hovered  about  him  one  radiantly  beautiful, 
whose  countenance  beamed  angel-like  upon  him,  and 
whose  tones  stole  like  soothing  music  to  his  ears. 
The  last  waking  thought  of  the  young  man,  as  his 
cheek  pressed  the  snow-white  pillow,  was  of  the  fair 
hand  that  smoothed  it;  and  the  lovely  spirit  of  his 
dreams  and  the  wrecker's  daughter  were  wonderfully 
like  ! 

After  the  others  had  retired,  the  wrecker  and  his 
wife  sat  before  the  crackling  fire  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion, the  former  indulging  the  luxury  of  a  pipe,  the 
blue  smoke  from  which,  after  floating  in  aerial  curls 
around  his  head,  rushed  in  a  broad  ribbon  up  the  rude- 
built  chimney. 

'^  So  you  saved  nothing  from  the  wreck?  "  said  the 
wife. 

"Not  a  single  article,"  was  the  reply.  "The  surf 
ran  so  high  it  was  dangerous  boarding  her,  and  it  was 
at  the  risk  of  my  fife  that  I  got  the  youngster  off.'' 

"  We  should  be  thankful  for  that,  husband.  One  life 
is  of  more  value  than  a  thousand  cargoes." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  old  man  with  great  sincerity ; 
"wealth  may  be  replaced,  but  life  once  gone  is  gone 
3 


26  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

forever.  The  ship  thrown  on  her  beam-ends  may  be 
righted,  but  the  craft  that  goes  to  the  bottom,  good 
bye  to  her ;  she  will  never  rise  again  !  '^ 

The  old  man  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and 
continued:  "The  crew  tried  to  persuade  me  from 
making  the  attempt,  but  I  could  not  leave  a  human 
being  to  perish  without  one  trial  to  save  him,  though, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  his  troubles  were  nearly  over 
when  I  got  to  him.  Precious  little  life  was  there  left 
in  him  when  I  took  him  on  board." 

"It  was  a  mercy  you  fell  in  with  him,  John," 
rejoined  the  woman,  in  a  compassionate  tone. 

"  You  may  well  say  that,  wife,  —  it  was  a  mercy, 
for  by  this  time  not  two  planks  of  that  ship  are  left 
together.  Two  hours,  with  such  a  sea  as  there  is 
now  on,  would  grind  the  stoutest  vessel  that  ever 
floated  to  splints,  placed  in  the  situation  of  the 
wreck." 

"  Pray  God,  no  vessel  be  exposed  to  this  frightful 
gale  ! "  ejaculated  the  wife,  with  an  inward  shudder,  as 
the  strong  blast  swept  over  the  house,  causing  the 
rafters  to  creak  and  tremble,  while  the  deep,  awful 
roar  of  the  sea  broke  upon  the  ear  in  thunder-tones, 
and  the  rain  and  the  driving  spray  plashed  with  a  dull, 
dreary  sound  against  the  side  of  the  building,  and  bub- 
bled in  the  crevices  of  the  small  seaward  window. 

"  Amen  to  that,  Bess  ! "  rejoined  the  old  sailor,  care- 
fully laying  aside  his  pipe.  "  God  grant  that  no  ship 
be  abroad  in  this  ugly  night !  Though  wrecking  is 
our  business,  and  we  are  ready  to  take  what  the  sea 
gives  us,  yet.  He  knows,  I  wish  no  harm  to  my  fellow- 
creatures.  They  talk  hard  of  us  poor  wreckers,  Avife; 
they  give  us  a  bad  name ;  but,  though  other  folks'  mis- 


THE   wrecker's    DAUGHTER.  27 

fortune  is  our  meat,  sooner  would  John  Brown  pine 
with  hunger  —  ay,  and  often  he  has,  too,  as  you  well 
know  —  than  wrong  his  conscience  by  wishing  ill  to 
others." 

"What  do  they  say  of  you,  John?  what  can  they 
say  of  you?"  asked  the  wife,  in  astonishment. 

"  They  speak  of  false  lights,"  said  the  indignant  old 
man,  "  set  like  bait  in  traps  to  lure  the  unwary  to 
destruction.  And  then  they  hint,  if  the  sea  spares  the 
poor  sailor,  the  wrecker  proves  less  merciful,  —  for 
'  dead  men  can  tell  no  tales,'  say  they !  No  more 
they  can,  wife,  seeing  as  a  cold  tongue  must  needs  be 
silent." 

"  But  have  they  any  cause  for  giving  you  such  a 
name  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  world  is  full  of  bad  men,  and  there  may 
be  some  in  our  trade.  I  commenced  the  business  on 
Florida  shore,  —  as  good  wrecking  ground  as  you  will 
find  on  the  coast,  —  and  I  have  heard  tell  of  men  who 
followed  the  trade  in  olden  time  on  the  Cape  who 
were  little  better  than  pirates.  False  lights  were 
kindled  in  dark,  stormy  nights,  and  when  the  devoted 
vessel  was  lured  on  to  the  .  rocks,  never  one  of  the 
crew  escaped  to  tell  the  tale.  If  the  surf  threw  them 
ashore,  there  were  always  those  ready  to  thrust  them 
back  again,  with  a  clip  on  the  head,  perhaps,  to  quiet 
them." 

"  Cruel  wretches  1  how  could  they  ?  "  murmured 
the  wife,  in  a  low,  half-whispered  tone. 

"  A  few  years  before  I  left  the  Cape,"  continued  the 
old  man,  "  there  was  a  report  of  a  Spanish  wrecker,  on 
one  of  the  neighboring  Keys,  enticing  a  brig  ashore 
and  murdering  the  crew.     A  number  of  bodies,  it  was 


28  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

said,  were  found  soon  after  washed  asliore,  all  bearing 
gaping  wounds,  showing  that  the  poor  fellows  had  met 
other  than  a  drowning  death." 

'^  I  never  liked  the  Spaniards,"  remarked  the  Avife, 
with  strong  feeling;  '^they  seem  to  be  a  cruel,  blood- 
thirsty race." 

"  Not  all  of  them,  Bess.  There  is  a  set  of  despera- 
does among  the  islanders,  but  we  must  not  judge  of 
the  national  character  by  these  men.  There  's  Anto- 
nio, now,  —  he  is  a  fine  fellow,  certainly." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  old  woman,  with 
a  shake  of  the  head.  "  I  can't  say  he  altogether  suits 
my  fancy ;  nor  more  does  he  some  one's  else,  though 
he  tries  hard  to  win  it." 

'^What,  does  Nell  look  coldly  upon  him?  Why,  I 
thought  he  was  just  the  one  to  catch  a  maiden's 
heart." 

"Love  will  go  where  it  is  sent,  John,  and  only 
there.  You  cannot  change  or  check  the  current  of 
woman's  affection  any  more  than  you  can  the  ocean 
tides." 

"  True,  Bess,  true ! "  said  the  old  man,  playfully ; 
"  nor,  for  the  matter  of  that,  her  hate  either.  Ye  are 
headstrong,  stubborn  creatures,  and  will  have  your 
way,  right  or  wrong.  But  I  am  not  sorry  that  Nell 
does  not  affect  the  lad,  for  he  has  a  good  deal  of  the 
warmth  of  his  clime  in  his  blood ;  you  may  see  that  in 
his  eyes.  With  Nell's  gentle  and  yielding  disposition, 
I  fear  me  she  would  find  more  of  the  master  than  the 
kind  husband  in  him." 

"  She  will  find  neither,  with  my  consent,"  replied  the 
wife,  in  a  tone  w^hich,  had  it  reached  Antonio's  ears, 
would  have  closed  the  gate  of  hope  against  him  for- 


THE  wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  29 

ever.  ^^  Who  is  this  young  Spaniard,  that  he  should 
seek  to  mate  with  one  Kke  her  ? '' 

"  We  all  know  who  he  is/'  replied  the  husband  j 
"but  who  is  Ellen?"  he  asked,  rather  significantly. 

"  She  is  an  angel !  "  was  the  wife's  reply,  a  shade  of 
sadness  stealing  over  her  face  as  she  rose  from  her 
seat. 

"Ay,  that  is  she.  Heaven's  blessing  on  her  inno- 
cent head  !  "  responded  the  husband.  A  brief  conver- 
sation followed,  when  the  wrecker  and  his  wife  retired 
for  the  night,  the  sough  of  the  storm,  like  the  moan  of 
a  troubled  spirit,  filling  their  ears,  —  a  sound  too  often 
heard  to  banish  sleep. 


CHAPTER    y. 

0  woman!  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou. 

Scott. 

When  the  young  man  awoke  the  next  morning,  witb 
the  angry  strife  of  the  elements  still  in  his  ears,  for  a 
while  his  memory  played  him  false,  and  he  gazed  con- 
fusedly about  the  strange-looking  apartment,  com- 
pletely at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  being  in  such  an 
unfamiliar  place.  By  degrees,  however,  he  became 
aware  of  the  true  state  of  the  case,  and  he  lifted  his 
head  from  the  pillow^  to  survey  the  singular  appear- 
ance of  the  room.  Barely  had  he  time  to  notice  the 
neatness  and  taste  wath  wdiich  it  was  furnished,  ere  a 
feeling  of  extreme  dizziness  forced  him  back  to  his 
3* 


30  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

pillow.  The  exposure  to  which  he  had  been  subjected, 
coupled  with  the  excitement  he  had  undergone,  operat- 
ing on  a  frame  not  yet  recovered  from  a  debilitating 
sickness,  had  proved  too  much  for  him.  A  burning 
fever  preyed  upon  him,  and  through  the  day  the  symp- 
toms grew  more  and  more  unfavorable,  so  that  by  the 
second  night  the  violence  of  the  attack  was  mani- 
fested by  the  frequent  wanderings  of  the  patient. 

Well  has  the  poet  characterized  woman,  "  a  minister- 
ing angel,  when  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow." 
Such  an  angel  flitted  around  the  couch  of  Edward 
Irving,  while  the  hand  of  disease  was  heavy  upon  him. 
Day  after  day  he  continued  to  grow  worse,  and,  for  the 
many  weeks  he  was  confined  to  a  sick-bed,  on  Ellen 
devolved  the  duties  of  nurse.  It  was  her  hand  that 
smoothed  his  pillow,  and  it  was  from  her  hand  he 
received  the  simple  medicines  prepared  by  the  wreck- 
er's wife.  During  all  the  wanderings  of  her  patient 
he  bestowed  upon  her  the  tender  epithet  of  "  sister," 
and  often  would  she  resign  her  hand  to  his  burning 
clasp  while  he  addressed  her  in  all  those  endearing 
terms  prompted  by  a  strong  brotherly  love.  Often, 
too,  would  he  speak  of  his  mother,  wondering  that  she 
was  not  present ;  and  then,  pressing  the  hand  he  held 
to  his  lips,  he  would  thank  the  blushing  girl  for  her 
kind  attentions.  So  accustomed  at  last  did  she  be- 
come to  the  familiar  appellation,  that  she  immediately 
started  to  do  his  bidding  whenever  he  mentioned  that 
sister's  name.  And  when  at  last  the  veil  was  removed, 
from  his  mind,  and  he  inquired,  in  a  feeble  whisper, 
forgetful  that  he  was  amidst  strangers,  for  "  sister 
Caroline,"  she  stepped  softly  to  his  bedside  and  gently 
answered,  ^^I  am  here,  Edward:  can  I  do  anything  for 


^1 

you?"  —  the  sudden  start  and  the  inquirmg  look  he 
gave  were  the  first  intimations  to  the  dehghted  girl 
that  his  delusion  had  vanished. 

^'  Surely  sister  Caroline  has  been  with  me ! "  said 
he,  as  he  gazed  with  an  earnest  look  into  the  face  of 
his  lovely  attendant. 

She  shook  her  head,  while,  in  a  tone  slightly  em- 
barrassed, she  informed  him  of  his  deception,  at  the 
same  time  cautioning  him  not  to  exert  himself  by  talk- 
ing in  his  then  critical  state. 

*^  Then  it  is  to  your  kindness  and  care  I  am  indebted 
for " 

lie  would  have  said  more,  but  she  gently  checked 
him,  imposing  upon  him  for  the  present  strict  silence. 
He  obeyed  her,  but  expressed  what  he  would  have 
said  by  raising  her  unresisting  hand  to  his  lips,  and 
breathing  the  word  "  Thanks  !  " 

Slowly  did  health  and  strength  come  back  to  young 
Irving,  and  for  a  long  time  he  was  compelled  to 
endure  the  irksomeness  of  a  sick-chamber.  But  did 
the  young  man  find  it  irksome  ?  If  he  did,  he  exhib- 
ited no  signs  of  weariness,  unless  on  those  occasions 
during  the  absence  of  that  lovely  being  whose  delicate 
attentions  and  gentle  sympathy  operated  as  a  spell 
upon  him,  banishing  the  gloom  of  confinement  and 
the  ennui  of  inaction.  In  ordinary  cases,  perhaps," 
the  attentions  of  a  young  female  towards  a  stranger, 
thrown,  as  Irving  was,  upon  the  hospitality  of  the 
family,  would  have  ceased  in  a  measure  during  the 
period  of  his  convalescence.  But  the  artless  and 
sympathizing  heart  of  the  wrecker's  daughter  saw  no 
impropriety  in  still  continuing  the  offices  of  a  nurse. 
Indeed,  so  occupied  was  the  mother  in  her  household 


32  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

duties,  that  Ellen  was  compelled  —  nothing  loth,  it 
must  be  confessed  —  to  attend  upon  the  sick  stranger. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  her,  during  his  slow  recovery, 
to  take  her  needie-work  and  sit  by  his  side,  and,  when 
his  returning  strength  permitted,  to  enter  into  conver- 
sation with  him,  or  to  read  to  him  from  the  few  vol- 
umes that  by  chance  had  found  their  way  to  this 
remote  place.  If  Ellen  hstened  eagerly  to  the  words 
of  one  whose  mind  was  richly  stored  with  intellectual 
treasure,  not  less  eagerly  did  young  Irving  watch  the 
manifestations  of  a  spirit  congenial  with  his  own,  —  a 
spirit  shackled,  as  it  were,  to  earth,  yet  striving,  in 
obedience  to  its  native  impulse,  to  plume  itself  for  a 
flight  into  a  higher  and  purer  atmosphere.  If  he  had 
been  surprised  to  find  so  much  beauty,  and  so  much 
that  is  endearing  in  the  feminine  character,  in  this  wild 
and  out-of-the-way  place,  not  less  was  he  surprised  to 
find,  united  to  this  loveliness,  so  much  of  the  germ 
of  that  which,  in  its  development,  is  so  ennobling  to  the 
other  sex.  Before  him  he  saw  a  fair  and  beautiful 
field,  in  whose  rich  soil  the  precious  seed  were  waiting 
for  the  invigorating  rays  to  quicken  them.  Could  he 
hesitate?  He  would  cultivate  this  inviting  soil;  he 
would  strive  to  repay  the  obligation  he  felt  resting 
upon  him  for  the  care  and  kindness  he  had  received, 
by  aiding  the  growth  jf  those  powers  which  promised 
such  rich  fruition.  Ah  !  the  beams  that  lent  the  quick- 
ening warmth,  darted  they  not  from  the  heart  as  Avell 
as  the  mind  ? 

It  was  a  delightful  task  on  which  he  now  entered, — 
dehghtful  to  pupil  as  teacher,  —  for  Ellen,  although 
Irving  had  not  hinted  his  intentions,  intuitivel}:'  seemed 
to  fathom  his  designs,  and,  by  her  eagerness  to  gather 


THE    WRECKERS   DAUGHTER.  66 

instruction,  manifested  lier  ready  acquiescence.  For- 
tunately for  the  young  man's  purpose,  the  wrecker,  on 
revisiting  the  scene  of  the  shipwreck,  had  found  in  a 
neighboring  hamlet,  among  other  things,  the  trunk  of 
Irving,  which  he  succeeded  in  securing  for  a  slight 
compensation.  The  contents  of  this  trunk  were  pecu- 
liarly valuable  to  Edward,  for  they  consisted  of  a  large 
set  of  books,  which,  in  his  new  character  of  instructor, 
were  almost  indispensable. 


CHAPTER    YI. 

They  read  together,  reading  the  same  book, 
Their  heads  bent  forward  with  a  half  embrace. 

So  that  each  shade  that  either  spirit  took 
Was  straight  reflected  in  the  other's  face. 

Axon. 

Edward  Irvixg  —  for  it  is  time  to  give  some  ac- 
count of  our  hero  —  was  a  young  Virginian.  He  was 
about  twenty-four  years  of  age.  His  personal  appear- 
ance was  certainly  prepossessing,  without  laying  claim 
to  any  distinguishing  marks  of  manly  beauty.  His 
countenance  could  not  strictly  be  called  handsome ; 
but  there  was  an  intellectual  cast  to  his  features, — 
an  expression  which  spoke  of  an  open  and  a  generous 
heart,  —  that  at  once  won  him  the  good  will  of  those 
with  whom  he  chanced  to  associate.  His  father  had 
been  some  time  deceased,  leaving  a  handsome  estate 
to  his  family,  which  consisted  of  the  w^idow,  and  two 
children,  Edward  and  Caroline. 

Unlike  too  many  of  the  "  chivalrous  "  sons  of  the 
Old  Dominion,  left  in  a  similar  situation,  who  spend 


34  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

their  time  and  patrimony  in  horse-racing  and  like 
"  manly  sports/'  to  the  neglect  of  the  higher  and 
nobler  employments  and  enjoyments  of  life,  Irving 
determined  to  strike  out  a  path  for  himself,  to  pursue 
a  loftier  career ;  for  which  purpose  he  sought  to  store 
his  mind  with  those  intellectual  treasures  which  bestow 
such  a  lustre  on  the  character.  He  heard  his  fellows 
boast  of  their  "  nice  sense  of  honor,"  of  their  high, 
chivalric  feeling,  but  he  was  grieved  to  see  so  little 
evidence  of  that  which  gives  to  man  his  only  true' 
worth  and  dignity.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  the 
poor,  beggarly  chaff  which  fed  the  ambition  of  many 
of  his  acquaintance.  His  aspirations  were  not  bounded 
by  the  foolish  desire  of  astonishing  the  gaping  multi- 
tude by  the  brilliancy  of  his  establishment,  by  a  prod- 
igal waste  of  money,  or  by  a  wild  and  reckless  course 
of  life.  He  sought  for  no  such  distinction  as  this :  he 
felt,  with  the  poet,  that 

"  The  suffrage  of  the  wise, 
The  praise  that 's  worth  ambition,  is  attained 
By  sense  alone,  and  dignity  of  mind." 

Not  unfrequently  had  he  heard  his  companions 
boast  of  their  being  the  ^^  sons  of  Virginia,"  the  de- 
scendants of  heroes  and  patriots,  —  good  men  and 
true ;  but  he  was  not  content  to  bask  in  the  reflected 
glory  of  other  days.  True,  he  felt  proud  of  his 
native  State,  of  the  illustrious  names  that  shed  such 
a  halo  around  her  annals ;  and,  conscious  of  lofty 
capacities,  he  resolved  not  to  waste  them,  but,  by 
cultivating  his  powers,  to  render  himself  a  worthy 
scion  of  the  proud  old  commonwealth,  and,  it  may  be, 
to  rub    off   some    of  the   rust  which  perchance  had 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  35 

gathered  on  her  escutcheon.  With  these  views  and 
feehngs  he  had  visited  the  North,  and  entered  "  old 
Harvard/'  where  he  apphed  himself  to  a  strict  course 
of  mental  discipline.  Actuated  as  he  was,  it  may 
safely  be  presumed  he  did  not  slight  the  opportunities 
afforded  him.  He  bent  his  whole  energies  to  the 
task  before  him,  and,  when  he  took  his  degree,  his 
name  stood  first  on  the  list  of  aspirants.  So  eager, 
indeed,  had  been  his  pursuit,  he  overtasked  his 
strength,  and  about  the  time  of  his  leaving  college 
his  health  had  become  very  much  reduced.  In  the 
hope  of  deriving  benefit  from  a  sea-voyage,  he  took 
passage  for  a  southern  port,  and  met  with  the  disaster 
we  have  stated. 

The  fall  months  had  passed  away  and  the  winter 
set  in  ere  Irving's  health  would  permit  him  to  leave 
the  house.  Even  then  it  was  so  precarious  he  dared 
not  risk  the  fatigue  and  exposure  of  a  journey  home. 
To  the  joy  of  the  wrecker's  family,  he  at  last  con- 
cluded to  remain  with  them  until  a  milder  season,  or 
until  his  strength  was  sufficiently  recruited  to  permit 
him  to  travel  with  safety.  He  had  ingratiated  himself 
wonderfully  with  the  wrecker  and  his  wife.  Unculti- 
vated themselves,  though  not  wanting  in  a  natural 
shrewdness  w^hich  preserved  them  from  boorishness, 
they  were  not  the  less  sensible  of  the  importance  of 
education ;  and  it  was  with  no  slight  degree  of  joy  that 
they  noticed  the  interest  that  existed  between  Ellen 
and  the  young  stranger  in  their  studies.  Whether,  in 
their  simplicity,  they  ever  cast  a  thought  on  the  pos- 
sibility of  the  young  couple  conning  a  lesson  not  to 
be  found  in  the  books,  we  cannot  take  it  upon  ourself 
to  say.     At  any  rate,  they  never  evinced  the  slightest 


3G  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

suspicion.  The  modest  and  frank  bearing  of  the 
young  man  entirely  won  their  regards,  and  they  re- 
posed the  fullest  confidence  in  his  integrity. 

As  for  Ellen,  she  had  scarcely  analyzed  her  feelings 
from  the  day  the  young  man  became  an  inmate  of  her 
father's  dwelling.  She  was  sensible  that  a  brighter 
light  beamed  upon  her  pathway,  that  a  new  fountain 
of  joy  had  been  opened  in  her  heart,  that  the  world 
wore  a  more  beautiful  aspect ;  but  she  attempted  not 
to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  change.  With  a  mind  all 
athirst  for  knowledge,  it  seemed  to  spurn  the  slow, 
laborious  process  by  which  it  is  usually  obtained,  and 
to  grasp  at  once  the  prize.  Scale  after  scale  fell 
rapidly  from  her  eyes,  until,  like  sudden  sight  to  the 
blind,  she  became  dazzled  and  bewildered  in  the  light 
that  beamed  around  her.  Her  young  teacher,  albeit 
he  gazed  delighted  on  the  almost  miraculous  workings 
of  her  spirit,  found  as  much  difficulty  in  curbing  her 
impatient  zeal  as  many  do  in  spurring  on  the  dull 
laggard. 

Day  after  day,  as  Irving  sat  by  the  side  of  thai 
ardent-minded  girl,  and  watched  the  changes  of  he? 
beautiful  countenance  as  new  truths  constantly  burst 
upon  her  mind,  and  witnessed  the  rich  glow  which 
ever  and  anon  irradiated  her  face  as  some  newly- 
encountered  difficulty  gave  way  before  her  uncon- 
querable perseverance, —  day  after  day,  as  he  marked 
the  unfolding  of  her  mind,  the  development  of  powers 
so  much  more  brilliant  than  he  dreamed  of  her  pos- 
sessing,—  deeper  and  deeper  grew  his  admirat'on. 
He  saw  her  striving  to  win  his  approbation  by  f  ould 
ing  her  intellect  in  accordance  with  his  own  by  im 
buing  herself  with  his  spirit,  catching  the   cOne  and 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  37 

hue  of  Lis  intelligent  nature,  turning  towards  him 
ever,  as  the  flower  to  the  sun,  with  a  sweet  confi- 
dence ;  and  as  he  thus  contemplated  her,  his  heart 
grew  to  her  with  an  affection  stronger,  if  possible, 
thaji  love.  She  leaned  upon  and  looked  up  to  him 
with  such  a  childlike  earnestness,  pursuing  her  in- 
quiries with  such  an  artless  familiarity,  and  abandon- 
ing herself  to  his  mental  guidance  so  unreservedly, 
and  yet  in  her  unrestrained  freedom  preserving  always 
such  a  modest  propriety,  that  the  young  man  felt  flat- 
tered as  well  as  charmed  by  her  devotion.  Mingled 
w^ith  that  deeper  and  more  impassioned  sentiment 
wdiich  had  sprung  up  in  his  heart,  he  cherished  toward 
her  the  pure  afi'ection  of  a  brother.  He  felt  proud  of 
the  task  he  had  undertaken  as  he  beheld  the  rapid 
growth  of  her  mind,  and  reflected  that,  but  for  him, 
perhaps,  this  lovely  casket  would  never  have  been  un- 
sealed and  its  precious  treasures  never  revealed. 

There  was  one,  however,  who  viewed  these  pro- 
ceedings with  far  other  than  pleasurable  feelings. 
From  the  first  hour  that  the  young  man  had  found 
shelter  beneath  the  wrecker's  roof,  there  was  one  who 
had  fixed  a  jealous  eye  upon  him.  This  was  Antonio, 
who,  -as  has  been  hinted,  looked  upon  the  young 
maiden  as  a  prize  destined  for  himself  alone.  With 
all  the  vindictiveness  of  his  race,  coupled  to  a  mind 
trammeled  by  ignorance  and  low  associations,  the 
reader  may  imagine  the  feelings  with  which  he  wit- 
nessed the  growing  intimacy  of  the  young  couple. 
At  the  very  first  the  devotion  of  Ellen  to  the  stranger 
during  the  severity  of  his  sickness  aroused  his  sus- 
picious nature,  and  as  the  young  man  grew  better 
and  a  closer  union  seemed  to  subsist  between  the 
4 


38  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

two,  while  broader  and  broader  grew  the  separation 
between  the  maiden  and  himself,  bitterer  and  more 
vengeful  grew  his  ire  towards  the  cause  of  this 
change ;  and  when  at  last  Ellen  withdrew  herself  en- 
tirely from  his  companionship,  insensibly  indeed  to 
herself,  he  was  goaded  to  an  almost  ungovernable 
rage.  He  swore  in  his  heart  the  deadliest  vengeance 
against  young  Irving,  although,  with  all  that  cunning 
so  often  engendered  by  malice,  he  smothered  the  pas- 
sion-fires that  raged  fiercely  in  his  bosom,  so  as  to 
conceal  them  from  the  notice  of  others.  Impatiently 
he  waited  for  the  coming  spring,  trusting  that  the 
young  man  would  take  his  departure,  brooding  over, 
meanwhile,  a  plan  by  which  he  might  rid  himself  of  so 
dangerous  a  rival,  should  he  still  linger  in  his  way,  or 
return  to  snatch  the  treasure  from  his  grasp. 

Slowly  and  drearily  to  him,  but  marvellously  rapid 
and  pleasant  to  the  youthful  couple,  passed  the  winter 
months.  To  them  it  was  like  the  passage  of  a  bril- 
liant dream,  and  they  could  scarcely  credit  their  own 
senses  when  they  observed  that  the  huge  snow-drifts 
had  disappeared  and  the  budding  spring  was  at  hand. 
They  could  not  be  convinced  that  it  had  been  a  rough 
and  rude  season,  and  the  old  folks  chuckled  with 
delight  and  rubbed  their  hands  in  great  glee  at  their 
mutual  astonishment,  when  they  told  them  that  a 
"  harder  winter  had  rarely  been  known."  0,  the  sun- 
shine of  the  heart!  how  it  softens  and  mellows 
where'er  it  falls  and  whatever  it  touches ! 


39 


CHAPTER    VII. 

They  had  not  spoken  ;  but  they  felt  allured 
As  if  their  souls  and  lips  each  other  beckoned. 

Byron 

Though  absent,  present  in  desires  they  be  ; 
Our  souls  much  further  than  our  eyes  can  see. 

Drayton. 

The  time  at  last  arrived  when  young  Irving  felt 
compelled  to  tear  himself  away  from  one  who  had 
woven  so  powerful  a  spell  around  his  heart.  Strong 
as  were  the  ties  that  drew  him  to  his  home,  ardently 
as  he  desired  once  more  to  embrace  a  mother  and  sis- 
ter whom  he  fondly  loved,  still  he  contemplated  the 
hour  of  his  departure  with  emotions  of  the  deepest 
sadness.  He  had  never  made  an  avowal  of  his  love, 
he  had  never  sought  an  expression  of  the  sentiments 
of  her  whose  image  was  enshrined  in  his  very  heart 
of  hearts ;  yet  well  he  knew  that  maiden's  heart  was 
aU  his  own.  Why  then  did  he  hesitate  ?  What  should 
prevent  his  securing  the  treasure  which  it  would 
seem  Providence  had  placed  in  his  reach  ?  Not  on 
his  own  account  did  he  refrain  from  declaring  his  pas- 
sion and  seeking  a  return.  Nay,  feeling  that  life 
without  her  companionship  would  be  a  poor  boon,  he 
had  determined  at  some  future  time  on  revealing  his 
affection,  and,  if  possible,  securing  her  hand. 

But  he  had  reasons  for  delaying  this  declaration. 
He  beljonged  to  one  of  the  old  patrician  families  of 
Virginia.  He  was  well  aware  that  his  mother  was  of 
that  class  which  cherishes  —  for  the  class  is  not  ex- 
tinct— peculiar  notions  in  regard  to  birth  and  fortune ; 


40  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

a  class  which  shrinks  from,  or  scorns,  an  alliance  with 
those  in  a  humbler  rank ;  which  arrogates  a  superiority 
above  the  common  herd,  as  though  the  purple  cur- 
rents that  course  their  veins  sprung  from  a  purer 
source  than  that  of  the  rest  of  God's  creatures.  Such 
were  the  ideas  early  instilled  into  young  Irving.  But 
as  he  grew  in  years  his  good  native  sense  taught  him 
better.  He  saw  among  the  different  grades  of  society 
no  radical  distinction;  he  saw  those  in  the  lower  walks 
of  life,  borne  down  and  fettered  by  circumstances, 
fitted  to  adorn  any  station  in  life ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  beheld  those  who  boasted  of  their  blood, 
who  were  not,  so  far  as  true  merit  is  concerned,  worthy 
to  undo  the  latchets  of  many  whose  companionship 
they  spurned.  Seeing  this,  he  felt,  with  the  poet,  that 
there  is 

•*No  distinction  'tween  man  and  man, 
But  as  his  virtues  add  to  him  a  glory, 
Or  vices  cloud  him." 

Well  knowing  his  mother's  views  on  this  point,  he 
thought,  for  the  happiness  of  all,  ere  he  committed 
himself,  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  confer  with  her. 
It  required,  however,  all  the  force  of  restraint  which 
he  could  command  when  he  announced  his  intention 
of  leaving  for  home.  He  first  mentioned  it  to  Ellen 
alone,  and  the  manner  with  which  the  information  was 
received,  the  tone  with  which  she  uttered  the  words, 
involuntarily,  as  it  were,  "Home,  Edward!  0,  why 
should  our  homes  be  apart?"  —  the  deep  dejection 
which  accompanied  this  artless  though  meaning  excla- 
mation—  almost  threw  him  off  his  guard,  and  he  was 
on  the  point  of  clasping  the  lovely  girl  to  his  heart 


THE  wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  41 

and  pouring  into  her  ear  the  tender  avowal  which 
trembled  on  his  hps.  Fortunately  for  his  purpose, 
the  entrance  of  the  wrecker  and  his  wife  checked  the 
impulse. 

Many  and  hearty  were  the  regrets  expressed  by  the 
parents  when  informed  of  his  intentions.  He  had 
been  domesticated  with  them  so  long  that  they  looked 
upon  him.  as  one  of  the  family,  and  quite  as  much 
interest  was  manifested  as  if  he  were  indeed  their  son. 
His  preparations  for  departing  threw  a  shade  of  gloom 
over  the  household,  and  only  the  reiterated  assurances 
of  the  young  man  that  he  would  soon  revisit  them  in 
the  least  reconciled  them  to  his  going  away. 

We  will  not  stop  to  describe  the  leave-taking :  it 
was  a  sad  one  to  all  concerned.  Irving  alone  was 
cheered  wath  the  hope  of  soon  returning  to  claim  the 
hand  of  her  whose  depth  of  feeling  prevented  her 
presence  when  the  final  moment  of  parting  came. 

With  feelings  little  to  be  envied,  the  young  man 
traversed  the  barren  region  that  separated  the  small 
hamlet  from  the  great  living  world,  and,  as  he  slowly 
journeyed,  his  thoughts  constantly  reverted  to  her  on 
whom  rested  all  his  earthly  hopes.  From  the  depth 
of  his  own  feelings,  well  could  he  imagine  the  state 
of  hers.  A  change  had  indeed  come  over  the  spirit 
of  her  dream,  and  bitter  to  her  was  that  change.  The 
light  which  had  beamed  so  brightly  in  her  pathway 
was  suddenly  withdrawn,  and  the  gloom  of  night 
closed  around  her.  Still,  one  little  star  looked  kindly 
down  upon  her.  Like  the  silver  sheen  on  the  edge 
of  the  black  cloud  which  veils  the  moon,  so  Hope 
threw  its  light  on  the  darkness  which  enveloped  her. 
Dwelling  on  his  promised  return,  her  spirits  soon 
4- 


42  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

regained  their  wonted  elasticity,  and  a  cheerful  smile 
again  came  back,  like  a  bird  to  its  nest,  as  if  loth  to 
remain  long  from  the  spot  around  which  it  loved  to 
linger. 

Irving  had  left  behind  him  all  his  stock  of  books, 
and  the  lonely  girl  derived  a  j)leasure  from  going 
over  them,  reviewing  her  course  of  study,  and  fondly 
dwelling  on  the  many  pencilled  passages,  thus  marked' 
in  order  the  more  forcibly  to  attract  attention.  Every 
moment  not  devoted  to  other  duties  was  spent  in  the 
little  apartment  used  as  a  study,  and  there  she  held 
silent  conamunion  with  the  absent;  and,  while  she 
sought  to  hoard  up  new  treasures  to  enrich  the  mind, 
daily  did  her  love  strengthen  toward  him  who  first 
revealed  to  her  their  existence,  and  taught  her  to 
appreciate  their  worth. 

With  a  very  wildness  of  joy,  which  he  found  it  dif- 
ficult to  conceal,  Antonio  beheld  the  departure  of  one 
whom  he  looked  upon  as  standing  in  his  way.  He 
had  long  flattered  himself  with  the  assurance  that  his 
success  in  winning  the  wrecker's  daughter  was  certain, 
until  the  arrival  of  the  stranger  dissipated  some  of 
his  confidence,  at  the  same  time  arousing  his  jealousy. 
Far  difi*erent  was  the  love —  if  it  may  be  dignified  by 
the  name  —  he  entertained  from  that  which  had  been 
kindled  in  Irving's  breast.  Antonio's  was  a  grosser 
passion.  He  looked  upon  her  as  a  beautiful  woman, 
an  object  of  desire  merely  to  minister  to  the  coarser 
appetites  of  his  nature.  He  could  not  appreciate  those 
intrinsic  qualities,  those  higher  and  purer  manifes- 
tations of  character,  wanting  which,  the  possessor 
of  the  most  captivating  personal  attractions  is  but  a 
mere  painted  toy,  a  thing  of  art  and  show. 


THE  wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  43 

But  a  short  time  elapsed  after  his  rival's  departure 
ere,  flushed  with  new  hope,  he  began  to  prosecute  his 
suit.  Urged  on  by  his  fiery  temperament,  and  seem- 
ingly unaware  of  the  very  evident  fact  that  Ellen 
studiously  avoided  him,  he  boldly  threw  himself  in  her 
way  and  perse veringly  sought  to  win  her  favor.  If 
before  the  maiden  had  a  distaste  for  his  companion- 
ship, more  strongly  than  ever  did  she  cherish  it  now. 

In  point  of  mere  external  appearance,  perhaps,  the 
Spaniard  had  the  advantage  of  the  stranger;  but, 
in  the  address  and  conversation,  in  everything  that 
related  to  character,  the  contrast  between  the  two 
was  so  great  that  distaste  grew  almost  into  disgust, 
which  she  found  it  difficult  to  conceal  when  in  his 
presence.  Still,  notwithstanding  she  plainly  evinced 
her  disrelish  for  his  society,  the  young  man  ceased  not 
his  annoying  advances ;  on  the  contrary,  each  repulse 
appeared  to  stimulate  him  to  renewed  perseverance. 

So  marked  at  last  became  his  attentions,  that,  to 
bring  matters  to  a  crisis,  and  so  rid  herself  of  his  un- 
pleasant pertinacity,  she  relaxed  a  little  from  her 
accustomed  reserve,  nor  sought  to  avoid  him  as  be- 
fore. Seizing  immediately  upon  the  apparently  favor- 
able omen,  Antonio  lost  not  a  moment  in  formally 
preferring  his  suit.  Ellen  calmly  listened  to  his  pro- 
testations of  love,  and  then,  in  a  voice  of  great  mild- 
ness, blended  with  a  determination  which  shut  out 
every  hope,  assured  him  that,  with  her  present  feelings, 
she  could  not  entertain  his  proposal.  The  young  man 
gave  an  involuntary  start  as  he  listened  to  his  rejection, 
and  then,  as  if  doubting  whether  his  ears  had  not 
deceived  him,  pressed  his  suit  anew,  and  with  a  more 
passionate  earnestness. 


44  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

"  It  is  in  vain,  Antonio,"  said  the  embarrassed  girl, 
as  she  gazed  with  a  feeling  akin  to  pity  on  the  glow- 
ing face  of  the  excited  youth,  ^' it  is  altogether  vain* 
our  paths  through  life  must  be  separate." 

This  time  there  was  no  mistaking  her  meaning,  and 
for  a  moment  Antonio  stood  silently  gazing  into  the 
maiden's  face,  his  compressed  lips  trembling  in  spite 
of  his  efforts,  and  a  sickly  pallor  overspreading  his 
swarthy  countenance,  giving  it  the  ghastly  hue  of 
death.  Thus  he  stood,  statue-like,  the  only  sign  of 
vitality  being  the  nervous  twitching  of  his  lip  and  the 
slightly  convulsive  heaving  of  his  breast,  until  the 
maiden  shrunk  from  the  very  intensity  of  his  gaze; 
when  suddenly  a  fierce  gleam  lighted  up  his  fixed  and 
stony  glance,  and  a  wildly  vengeful  expression  swept 
across  his  features.  The  change  was  so  quickly 
wrought,  and  so  complete,  that  Ellen  began  to  tremble 
with  a  sense  of  undefined  apprehension.  She  dreaded 
the  burst  of  passion  which  she  doubted  not  would 
follow  this  forcible  manifestation  of  the  struggle 
within. 

"  Ah  ha !  I  thought  ks  much,"  said  he,  in  a  low,  sar- 
donic tone,  "  I  thought  as  much,  and  I  may  thank  the 
pale-faced  stranger  for  this  reception  !  " 

'^  Antonio  !  "  said  the  maiden,  startled  at  his  remark, 
and  somewhat  indignant,  "  I  cannot  listen  to  such  lan- 
guage ! "  and  she  attempted  to  leave  him. 

"  Nay,  nay,  Ellen  Brown,  you  must  hear  me  ! "  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  stepped  in  her  path.  ^^  I  have  long 
suspected  this.  The  stranger  is  at  the  bottom  of  it 
all.  He  has  tampered  with  you;  he  has  won  your 
affections  with  his  smooth  tongue,  and  fooled   3^our 


THE  wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  .  45 

igaorance  witli  bis  bookish  jargon.  He  bas  robbed 
me,  curses  on  bim  !  and  little  be  cares  for " 

'^  Let  me  joass,  sir ! ''  interrupted  tbe  wrecker's 
daughter,  now  highly  excited  at  the  reproach  thrown 
upon  the  absent.  "  Your  language  is  as  unmanly  as  it 
is  unjust." 

The  enraged  Spaniard  for  a  moment  fixed  upon  the 
maiden  a  lowering  look,  in  which  were  concentrated 
every  dark  and  malignant  passion;  then,  making  room 
for  her  to  pass,  he  muttered :  "  Go,  proud  girl !  go 
your  way ;  but  know  that  I  can  hate  as  strongly  as  I 
can  love.  Your  path  is  clear,  but  I  give  you  fair 
w^arning,  maiden.  Tell  your  sickly  paramour  to  be- 
ware, for,  if  ever  he  crosses  my  path,  a  worse  fate  will 
await  him  than  that  from  which  your  foolish  father 
rescued  him ! '' 

It  is  doubtful  if  Ellen  heard  the  threat  conveyed  in 
the  last  sentence,  for  she  hastily  seized  the  opportu- 
nity to  leave  the  presence  of  her  infuriated  lover,  who 
turned  from  the  spot,  invoking  the  most  horrid  impre- 
cations on  the  head  of  his  rival. 

Time  passed  on,  and  the  excitement  in  Ellen's  mind, 
consequent  upon  the  interview  we  have  just  described, 
had  given  place  to  other  feelings.  Sometimes  a  vague 
fear  would  flit  across  her  heart  that  Irving's  return 
might  be  attended  with -danger.  But  this  apprehen- 
sion was  soon  banished,  for  Antonio  appeared  to  have 
mastered  his  passion.  Everything  in  his  manner 
evinced  an  entire  change  in  his  feelings.  He  had 
become  cheerful  as  ever,  and  he  greeted  Ellen  with 
the  same  cordiality  he  had  always  manifested,  insomuch 
that  she  deceived  herself  with  the  behef  that  he  had 
forgotten,  or  was  indifferent  to,  the  repulse  given  to 


46  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

him.  Ah!  little  did  she  dream  of  the  horde  of  evil 
passions  which  nestled,  like  so  many  venomous  ser- 
pents, beneath  that  calm  and  smiling  exterior,  await- 
ing only  the  return  of  the  young  Virginian  to  arouse 
them  to  action. 

But  Avould  he  ever  return?  The  spring  passed 
away,  the  burning  summer  came,  and  the  glowing 
autumn  drew  nigh,  and  still  he  came  not,  —  still  came 
there  no  tidings  from  him.  Was  he  sick?  Had  he 
forgotten  her?  The  wrecker's  daughter  could  not 
repress  a  sigh  as  she  pondered  these  questions.  Yet 
hope  and  faith  triumphed  over  fear  and  doubt.  The 
distance  was  so  great,  the  opportunity  of  sending 
to  a  place  so  remote  occurred  so  seldom,  she  felt  she 
had  no  reason  to  expect  a  letter  from  him,  although 
he  had  promised  to  write.  Banishing,  therefore,  her 
despondency,  she  bent  herself  with  renewed  zeal  to 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge. 

Not  for  the  sake  of  knowledge  alone  did  she  thus 
task  her  energies,  although  to  one  of  her  cast  of  mind 
no  other  stimulus  were  needed.  In  all  her  mental 
strivings  one  motive  alone  impelled  her,  one  desire 
only  did  she  cherish, —  to  win  the  approbation  of  the 
absent  one,  to  raise  herself  to  his  mental  standard. 
Her  great  ambition  was  to  assimilate  her  character 
with  his,  and  thus  render  herself  more  worthy  of  his 
friendship.  If  a  warmer  sentiment  inspired  her  en- 
deavors, its  existence  was  not  acknowledged,  although 
the  shrewd  reader  may  decide  that  love  alone  was  the 
prime  mover  of  all  her  actions. 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  47 


CHAPTER    YIII. 

Love  gives  esteem,  and  then  he  gives  desert ; 
He  either  finds  equality,  or  makes  it. 
Like  death,  he  knows  no  difference  in  degrees. 
But  flames  and  levels  all.  Dryden. 

Absence,  with  all  its  pains. 
Is  by  this  charming  moment  vnped  away. 

Thomson. 

0  NO  I  Edward  Irving  was  not  forgetful.  Nay, 
absence  served  rather  to  strengthen  his  passion. 
Though  he  moved  among  beautiful  forms,  and  caught 
the  winning  glances  of  brilliant  eyes,  and  encountered 
wooing  smiles,  yet  his  heart  went  back  to  the  lone 
flower,  blooming  amid  the  desolate  rocks,  true  to  its 
first  impulses.  Courted  by  the  wealthy  and  high-born, 
—  for  the  possessor  of  so  many  rich  acres  was  a  prize 
coveted  by  many, — feted  and  flattered  by  designing 
mothers  and  worldly-minded  fathers,  mingling  in  that 
circle  whose  members  affect  to  look  down  upon  those 
shut  out  from  its  charmed  precincts,  still,  young  Irving 
forgot  not  for  a  moment  the  wrecker^s  daughter, 
cast  not  a  single  regretful  thought  on  her  humble 
birth,  but  only  sighed  foi*  the  time  when  he  should 
take  her  to  his  home  and  heart.  During  his  residence 
at  the  North,  he  had  imbibed  more  strongly  those 
notions  (peculiar,  as  we  believe,  to  New  England) 
which  lead  one  to  measure  a  man,  not  by  the  false  and 
contracted  views  of  a  clique,  but  by  the  broad  rule 
w^hich  the  Creator  himself  has  laid  down,  —  by  a  men- 
tal and  moral  standard  w^hich  alone  is  infallible. 

It  was  no  slight  undertaking  to  enter  into  an  expla- 


48  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

nation  with  liis  mother.  Ho  had  deeply  rooted  preju- 
dices to  encounter,  —  prejudices  imbibed  in  earliest 
youth,  and  which  had  grown  and  strengthened  with 
years.  lie  had  still  more  to  overcome.  His  mother 
had  already  fixed  upon  a  choice  for  her  son,  and  since 
his  return  she  had  lost  no  opportunity  in  bringing 
about  the  end  she  had  in  view.  She  well  knew  that 
Edward  cherished  rather  "  vulgar  notions  "  of  "  equal- 
ity," and  fearing  that  he  might  carry  them  out  in 
forming  a  connection,  she  thought  it  would  not  be 
amiss  to  avert  the  calamity  by  selecting  a  partner 
every  way  desirable. 

Poor  woman  1  her  air-built  castle  was  destined  to 
tumble  to  the  ground,  and  its  ruins  laid  heavily  on 
her  heart.  She  could  hardly  listen  patiently  to  Ed- 
ward's avowal  that  he  had  already  settled  the  affair. 
Her  very  worst  fears  were  more  than  realized.  What, 
her  son  marry  a  low-bred  wrecker's  daughter !  The 
proud  blood  of  the  Irvings  be  contaminated  by  its 
sole  representative  uniting  with  the  daughter  of  a 
fishmonger,  a  half  pirate !  Alas,  it  was  a  sore  trial 
to  the  aristocratic  widow ;  and  vainly  might  Edward 
have  essayed  to  reconcile  her  to  what  she  deemed  the 
degradation,  had  he  not  had  powerful  advocates  to 
assist  him. 

One  of  these  was  his  own  sister,  a  fine,  intelligent 
girl,  who  partook  much  of  the  spirit  of  her  brother. 
From  Edward's  representations  she  had  been  com- 
pletely won  over  to  his  interests,  and  already  had  she 
begun  to  cherish  a  warm  regard  for  the  humble  Ellen. 
From  the  glowing  accounts  of  her  brother,  the  ardent- 
minded  girl  was  impatient  to  welcome  the  object  of 
his  affection  as  a  sister.     The  other  advocate  on  this 


THE   WriECKEU's   DAUGHTER.  40 

occasion  was  a  widow  lady  in  the  neigliborliood,  tlie 
early  companion  and  always  friend  of  Mrs.  Irving. 
Her  opinions  had  great  weight  with  the  latt  "^r  lady, 
and,  by  her  influence,  Mrs.  Irving  in  time  became  some- 
what reconciled  to  what,  in  fact,  from  her  knowledge 
of  the  determined  spirit  of  her  son,  she  knew  could 
not  be  avoided. 

Mrs.  Randolph  had  drunk  deeply  of  the  bitter  cup 
of  life.  Though  of  a  wealthy  family,  the  possessor 
of  much  wealth  herself,  and  moving  in  the  same  circle 
with  Mrs.  Irving,  yet  sorrow  had  chastened  her  feel- 
ings, and  taught  her  to  view  objects  in  a  different  light 
from  that  of  her  friend.  Her  own  wedded  happiness 
early  crushed  by  a  peculiarly  painful  blow,  by  which 
she  was  at  once  deprived  of  husband  and  child,  she 
had  retired  in  a  measure  from  the  world,  her  heart  too 
much  wedded  to  the  lost  to  permit  her  to  accept  the 
many  offers  to  again  enter  the  married  state.  Edward 
was  an  especial  favorite  of  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  he 
looked  upon  her  almost  as  a  second  mother.  The 
most  perfect  confidence  existed  between  them,  and  he 
had  revealed  to  her  everything  relating  to  his  heart- 
affairs,  and  all  her  sympathies  were  enlisted  in  his 
behalf.  The  good  offices  she  rendered  have  already 
been  noticed. 

Elated  with  success,  and  impatient  to  rejoin  her 
whose  image  was  ever  present  with  him,  Irving  hast- 
ened to  despatch  some  affairs  relating  to  his  property, 
and  then  left  home,  determined  not  to  return  without 
bringing  with  him  the  wrecker's  daughter,  not  as  a 
visitor,  but  as  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  the  mistress  of 
his  mansion. 

Night  had  closed  in,  and  the  broad  harvest  moon, 
5 


50  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

rising  from  out  the  ocean,  had  thrown  a  pillar  of  light 
along  its  •unruffled  surface,  as  Irving  arrived  in  the 
neighborliood  of  the  little  hamlet  towards  which  his 
path  tended.  It  was  a  dreary-looking  spot,  yet  the 
rays  of  the  moon,  as  they  fell  on  the  still  waters  of  the 
cove  and  lent  their  chastening  light  to  the  dark  dwel- 
lings, gave  to  the  scene  a  very  picturesque  effect.  It 
will  not  be  wondered  at  that  to  the  young  traveller  it 
appeared  one  of  surpassing  beauty,  and  that  the  hum- 
ble hut,  whose  dingy  roof  was  just  tipped  by  the 
beams  of  the  rising  moon,  was  more  attractive  in  his 
eyes  than  would  have  been  the  most  finished  specimen 
of  architectural  beauty. 

He  had  arrived  at  a  slight  eminence  in  close  prox- 
imity to  the  clustered  hamlet,  and  for  a  moment 
paused  to  look  around  him.  Everything  seemed 
hushed  in  the  deepest  repose,  not  a  sound  breaking 
the  impressive  stillness,  save  the  Ioav  wash  of  the  sea 
as  it  broke  in  gentle  ripples  on  the  shore.  Before 
Lim  spread  out  the  ocean  like  a  vast  mirror,  reflecting 
in  its  clear  depths  the  queen  of  night  with  all  her  lus- 
trous train,  wliile  on  either  hand  rose  the  beetling 
cliffs,  like  giants  set  to  guard  the  land  from  the  en- 
croachments of  its  ancient  enemy,  the  sea.  Here  a 
lofty  promontory  stood  boldly  out  in  the  pale  moon- 
light, and  there  a  vast  chasm  seemed  to  yawn,  black 
as  night's  mantle,  the  whole  forming  a  checkered  and 
singularly  grotesque  scene,  affording  striking  effects 
of  light  and  shade.  We  know  not  how  long  the 
young  man  might  have  been  absorbed  with  the  view, 
had  not  his  eye  caught  sight  of  an  object  which  in- 
duced him  to  hurry  from  the  spot,  the  beating  of  his 
heart  keeping  time  to  the  rapidity  of  his  movements. 


THE    WIIECKKR'rf    DAUCJIITER.  51 

Standing  on  one  of  those  promontories  wliicli  spring 
from  the  sea,  fully  revealed  in  the  broad  moonbeams, 
the  quick  eye  of  the  young  man  detected  the  outhnes 
of  a  female  form.  It  needed  not  a  second  glance  to 
inform  him  who  it  was.  Striking  out  from  the  path 
he  was  following,  he  hastened  in  the  direction  of  the 
maiden. 

So  completely  abstracted  Avere  the  senses  of  the 
wrecker's  daughter,  as  she  stood  gazing  upon  the 
scene  before  her,  that  she  was  not  aware  of  the  young 
man's  approach  until,  standing  nearly  by  her  side,  he 
whispered  her  name.  The  first  impulse  of  the  startled 
girl,  as  she  turned  and  immediately  beheld  before  her 
the  very  being  who  at  that  moment  solely  occupied 
her  thoughts,  was  to  throw  herself  into  the  arms  that 
were  extended  to  welcome  her.  It  was  an  involun- 
tary act,  and  when  she  hastily  extricated  herself  from 
his  passionate  embrace,  — 

•'  How  beautiful  she  looked  !  her  oonsciou^  heart 
Glowed  in  her  cheeks,  and  yet  she  felt  no  wrong." 

We  will  not  attempt  to  portray  the  feelings  that 
agitated  her  bosom  at  this  unexpected  meeting.  The 
poet  we  have  just  quoted  best  describes  them,  per- 
haps, in  the  following  passage  : 

*'  Joy  trickled  in  her  tears,  joy  filled  the  sob 

That  rocked  her  heart  till  almosi;  heard  to  throb  ; 
And  paradise  was  breathing  in  the  sigh 
Of  nature's  child  in  nature's  ecstasy." 

The  time,  the  place,  the  little  circumstances  attend- 
ing the  first  moment  of  meeting,  all  were  favorable  to 
the  object  the  young  man  had  in  view.     Can  there  be 


yj.  FOftEST    AND    SHORE. 

a  doubt  that  lie  improved  the  propitious  opportunity, 
or  a  doubt  of  the  result  of  that  unpremeditated  inter- 
view? "  By  the  hglit  of  the  moon/'  as  the  old  ballad 
runs,  they  exchanged  their  vows ;  '^  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  "  the  young  man  sealed  his  pledge  on  the 
rosy  lips  of  his  betrothed ;  and  "  by  the  light  of  the 
moon "  at  a  late  hour  they  walked  home,  two  as 
happy  hearts  as  that  planet,  or  any  other,  ever  smiled 
upon. 

There  was  one  being  lurking  in  the  neighborhood, 
who,  from  his  hiding-place,  had  witnessed  the  rap- 
turous meeting,  and  listened  to  the  murmured  inter- 
change of  feeling,  and  who  went  home  that  night,  dog- 
ging their  footsteps,  with  a  heart  overflowing  with  all 
th*^  bitterness  of  malignant  hatred,  and  racked  with  the 
most  vengeful  jealousy.  The  sleeping  serpents  were 
aroused,  waiting  to  dart  forth  their  poisonous  fangs ! 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Nothing  shall  assuage 
Your  love  but  marriage.  Lilly. 

0  serpent-heart,  hid  with  a  flow'i'ing  face  ! 

Shakspeare. 

The  delight  of  the  wrecker  and  his  wife  at  the 
return  of  Irving  was  unbounded,  nor  was  it  at  all 
lessened  when  he  informed  them  of  the  object  of  his 
visit,  and  that  their  consent  only  was  Avanted  to 
crown  it  with  success. 

"  Take  her,  young  man,"  said  the  aged  wrecker, 
with  a  slightly  tremulous  voice,  as  he  placed  the  hand 


of  the  blushing  girl  in  Irving's,  "take  her  and  cherish 
her.  She  has  been  a  treasure  to  us,  yet  we  cheerfully 
entrust  her  to  one  who,  we  believe,  will  not  slight  the 
gift.  We  are  rude  and  unlearned  ourselves,  and  Nell 
has  ever  lived  among  these  wild  rocks ;  yet,"  he  con- 
tinued, glancing  affectionately,  and  it  may  be  with  a 
touch  of  pride,  at  the  object  of  his  remarks,  "  though 
I  say  it,  the  proudest  lady  in  the  land  need  not  bo 
ashamed  of  her  companionship." 

A  slight  pressure  of  the  hand  he  held  was  the 
assent  given  by  the  young  man  to  the  old  sailor's 
plain-spoken  encomiums. 

Having  won  the  blushing  consent  of  Ellen  that  the 
"happy  day"  should  not  be  postponed  any  longer 
than  was  necessary,  Edward,  to  while  away  the  time 
that  must  necessarily  elapse  in  preparation,  —  the 
ladies  know  how  much  is  consumed  on  these  all-im- 
portant occasions, — roved  about  the  rocks,  sometiines 
with  his  gun  and  sometimes  with  his  rod,  deriving 
pleasure  and  health  from  the  exercise.  In  most  of 
his  excursions  he  was  accompanied  by  Antonio,  who 
seemed  particularly  desirous  of  cultivating  his  friendly 
acquaintance.  Finding  him  such  excellent  company, 
Edward  rarely  started  on  an  expedition  without  ex- 
tending him  an  invitation.  It  is  true  at  first  he  was 
not  very  partial  to  his  companionship.  There  was  a 
certain  something  about  the  young  Spaniard  which 
impressed  him  unfavorably.  TVhat  it  was  he  could 
neither  define  nor  explain.  Sometimes  it  was  the  ex- 
pression of  his  eye,  when,  turning  suddenly,  perhaps, 
he  found  it  resting  upon  him ;  sometimes  it  was  in  his 
lips,  where  he  thought  he  detected  a  slight  curl  of 
scorn,  or  defiance,  which  grated  harshly  on  his  feel- 
5* 


64  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

ings ;  then  again  it  was  a  peculiarity  in  liis  smile,  or 
in  the  tone  of  his  voice.  This,  however,  in  time 
wholly  wore  off,  and  his  partiality  at  length  grew 
quite  as  strong  as  had  been  his  former  prejudice. 

It  may  as  well  be  mentioned  here  that  Miss  Irving 
and  Mrs.  Randolph  had  sent  on  by  Edward,  whose 
assurance  of  success  must  have  been  undoubted,  am- 
ple tokens  of  their  love  and  good-will,  in  the  shape  of 
silks  and  satins,  and  all  those  little  etceteras  of  dress 
and  ornament  which  are  deemed  so  essential  to  the 
bridal  wardrobe,  and  which  they  rightly  supposed 
would  not  be  unacceptable.  The  letters  which  accom- 
panied these  munificent  gifts  touched  the  heart  of 
Ellen  more  than  the  rich  presents.  That  of  Caroline's 
breathed  the  very  spirit  of  sisterly  affection,  wdiiie 
Mrs.  Randolph's  was  couched  in  the  endearing  lan- 
guage of  motherly  fondness.  Mrs.  Irving,  also,  con- 
descended to  write,  assuring  her  that,  as  the  wife  of 
her  son,  she  would  be  warmly  welcomed.  It  must  be 
confessed  that  the  wrecker's  daughter  lingered  with 
greater  delight  over  the  warm  expressions  contained 
in  Caroline's  and  Mrs.  Randolph's  letters  than  she  did 
on  the  rather  formal  tone  of  Mrs.  Jrving's  epistle. 

Time  passed  on,  and  it  had  been  settled  that  the 
proposed  ceremony  should  take  place  at  the  expira- 
tion of  a  week.  An  itinerant  preacher,  —  one  of  those 
self-denying  characters  who  go  about  doing  good, 
leaving  the  crowded  thoroughfares  of  Hfe,  and  striking 
off  into  lone  by-places,  searching  out  the  remote  and 
tinvisited  places  of  the  earth,  taking  neither  purse  nor 
scrip,  but  sacrificing  ease  and  comfort,  content  so  that 
they  can  bear  to  their  fellow-mortals  the  word  of  ever- 
lasting life,  —  an  individual  of  this  stamp  very  oppor- 


THE  WRECKERS  DAUGHTER.  55 

tunely  paid  a  visiL  '•o  this  distant  spot,  and  was  invited 
to  remain  and  perform  the  nuptial  rites. 

Meanwhile,  one  pleasant  morning,  it  was  proposed 
by  Antonio  that  the  young  men  should  take  the  small 
boat,  which  w^as  fitted  with  a  sail,  and  go  on  a  fishing 
expedition.  Irving  readily  acceded  to  the^proposition, 
and,  taking  in  a  supply  of  stores,  as  they  intended  to 
be  absent  until  nightfall,  they  started,  with  a  light 
wind,  and  with  a  fine  prospect  of  a  good  day's  sport. 
Everything  seemed  propitious.  At  an  early  hour  they 
reached  the  fishing-ground.  Excellent  luck  attended 
them,  and,  in  the  edge  of  the  evening,  they  were  on 
their  return,  in  high  glee  at  their  success. 

About  a  league  or  so  from  the  entrance  of  the  cove 
in  a  westerly  direction,  there  is  a  sunken  rock,  which 
at  low  tide  is  left  quite  bare  at  its  summit,  but  when 
the  tide  is  full  it  is  covered  to  the  depth  of  ten  or 
twelve  feet.  It  was  about  sunset  when  they  reached 
this  rock,  which  was  fully  exposed,  the  tide  being  in 
its  young  flood.  Owing  to  some  remark  thrown  out 
by  Antonio,  apparently  in  a  careless  manner,  respect- 
ing a  certain  species  of  cockle  to  be  found  upon  it^ 
Irving  proposed  landing. 

Antonio  spoke  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour  and  the 
distance  from  the  cove,  as  if  hesitating.  "  There  will 
be  time  enough,  however,"  said  he,  "  for  we  have  the 
wind,  what  there  is  of  it,  and  the  tide,  in  our  favor  ; '' 
and  he  ran  the  boat  alongside  the  rock.  A  savage 
gleam  of  satisfaction  lit  up  the  eyes  of  the  young 
Spaniard  as  he  sprang  upon  it,  followed  by  his  com- 
panion. 

For  some  time  they  remained  gathering  the  cockles, 
from  Pome  of  which  a  rich  dye,  similar  to  carmine,  may 


56  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

be  obtained, — a  species  very  common  on  our  coast. 
While  Irving  was  thus  busily  employed,  the  young 
Spaniard  covertly  stepped  into  the  boat,  gave  her  a 
hasty  shove  off,  and  was  quite  a  distance  from  the  rock 
ere  Irving  noticed  his  absence.  Presuming,  of  course, 
that  it  was  done  in  joke,  he  made  some  slight  remark, 
and  continued  gathering  the  cockles.  Having  ob- 
tained a  sufficient  quantity,  he  hailed  Antonio,  who 
was  now  at  some  distance,  to  take  him  off.  A  scorn- 
ful laugh  was  the  response.  Still  free  from  suspicion, 
and,  finding  the  space  on  which  he  stood  was  rapidly 
encroached  upon  by  the  tide,  he  again  hailed  his  com- 
panion, requesting  him  to  return.  This  time  no  reply 
was  made,  but  Irving  noticed  that  the  sail  of  the 
boat  was  trimmed  that  she  might  head  to  the  west- 
ward. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  suspicion  flashed  upon  his 
mind.  Ellen  had  told  him  of  Antonio's  offer  and  of 
her  rejection  of  his  suit,  and  of  the  exasperated  feeling 
he  manifested  on  the  occasion ;  and  this  was  the  horrid 
revenge  he  had  determined  upon,  —  leaving  him  on 
that  lone  rock  to  perish  by  a  slow  and  miserable 
death ! 

Hoping  that,  after  all,  his  fears  might  be  groundless, 

—  though  he  now  vividly  recalled  the  unfavorable  im- 
pressions he  cherished  on  first  meeting  Antonio  after 
his  return,  which  served  to  increase  his  apprehension, 

—  for  a  third  time  he  hailed  him,  in  a  voice  as  uncon- 
cerned as  if  he  regarded  it  all  as  a  matter  of  sport.  ' 

"  Come,  Antonio,''  he  said ;  "  it  will  be  late  before 
we  get  home.  The  tide,  too,  is  coming  in  fast,  and 
will  soon  overflow  the  rock." 

This  time  an  answer  came  back,  and  Irving's  blood 


THE  wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  57 

receded  coldly  to  his  heart  as  it  fell  upon  his  ears, 
for  he  knew  that  he  w^as  a  doomed  man;  that  the 
Spaniard  had  decoyed  him  on  to  the  rock  for  the  very 
purpose  of  leaving  him  there  to  his  fate. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  he  shouted,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  stern 
of  the  boat.  "  A  pleasant  night  may  you  have  of  it, 
my  young  buck !  "  he  continued,  in  a  mocking  tone,  as 
the  boat  slowly  receded  from  the  rock.  "  The  priest 
you  have  bidden  to  your  bridal  may  be  wanted  for  a 
less  joyful  occasion,  if  the  sea  should  throw  your 
battered  carcass  on  shore.  I  gave  the  maiden  fair 
warning,  yet  I  have  trapped  you  at  last.  Kneel  to 
your  God,  for  in  an  hour's  time  it  will  be  all  "over  wath 
you."  And  another  savage  laugh  floated  over  the 
calm  waters. 

In  an  agony  of  mind  which  for  the  moment  benumbed 
eveiy  faculty,  the  young  man  stood  as  if  carved  out 
of  the  solid  rock,  motionless,  almost  pulseless,  his 
cheeks  blanched  as  death,  every  muscle  strained  to  its 
utmost  tension,  w- ith  his  glassy  eyes  fixed  in  a  despair- 
ing gaze  upon  the  distant  boat,  now  fast  disappearing 
in  the  gloom  of  the  fading  twihght.  Her  course  lay- 
to  the  westward,  probably  tending  toward  some  by- 
port,  there  being  a  number  of  fishing-stations  scattered 
at  intervals  along  the  coast,  whenoe  the  young  Span- 
iard would  doubtless  make  his  escape. 

The  last  faint  ghmpse  of  the  receding  sail  had  flit- 
ted like  a  vague  shadow  on  the  young  man's  sight 
ere  he  was  aroused  from  his  death-like  stupor,  when 
the  full  sense  of  his  fearful  and  hopeless  doom  burst 
upon  him.  From  the  far-ofi"  horizon,  into  whose  misty 
obscurity  the  boat  had  vanished,  the  gaze  of  the  un- 
happy victim  of  treachery  was  directed,  w^ith  a  shud 


58  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

der,  to  the  water  at  his  feet.  Inch  by  inch  the  tide 
was  gaining  on  his  narrow  foothold,  every  moment 
creeping  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  shght  elevation  to 
which  he  had  retreated.  In  a  momentary  feeling  of 
despair,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  rock,  giving  himself 
.up  to  the  fate  which  appeared  inevitable,  —  waiting 
for  the  rising  tide  to  wash  him  off  to  his  watery  grave. 

In  that  hopeless  moment,  what  thoughts  tumultu- 
ously  crowded  his  brain  !  His  home,  his  mother  and 
sister,  dearer  than  all,  his  almost-bride,  the  endearing 
associations  that  clustered  around  each  and  all  of  these 
objects  of  love,  the  glowing  hopes  he  had  cherished, 
the  long  lifetime  of  happiness  he  had  anticipated, — 
must  he  resign  them  all  ?  At  the  very  moment  when 
all  he  coveted  in  life  was  just  within  his  grasp,  in  the 
freshness  and  vigor  of  youth,  must  he  be  taken  away? 
Must  lie  die?  He  sprang  to  his  feet  as  the  bitter 
thought  shot  like  a  pang  through  his  heart. 

"  God  of  mercy,  spare  me  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  choked 
utterance,  lifting  his  arms  on  high,  as  he  felt  the  swell- 
ing water  plashing  around  his  feet  as  it  broke  with  a 
gentle  motion  over  the  rock.  "  Spare  me,  heavenly 
Father ! "  he  repeated ;  "  but,  if  it  be  thy  will  that  I 
perish,  in  mercy  let  my  suifferings  be  short." 

The  moon  had  now  risen,  and  a  long  line  of  trem- 
bhng  light  shot  across  the  ocean's  surface,  apparently 
terminating  at  the  spot  where  the  young  man  stood. 
Its  gentle  beams,  resting  so  like  a  smile  on  the  face 
of  the  deep,  seemed,  to  his  frenzied  feelings,  as  sent  in 
mockery  to  his  sufferings  ;  and,  as  they  broke  in  fitful 
flashes  among  the  ripples  that  played  about  the  inun- 
dated rock,  they  enabled  the  wretched  young  man  to 
observe  the  tide  as  it  rose  gradually,  each  little  wavelet 


THE   WRECKER  S    DAUGHTER.  59 

washing  in  succession  up,  up,  higher  and  higher,  send- 
ing a  clammy,  deathhke  chillness  through  his  frame. 
Slowly,  as  the  waters  rose,  —  now  reaching  the  instep, 
now  the  ankle,  now  creeping,  creeping  stealthily  up 
the  limb,  its  cold  embrace  feeling  like  the  clasp  of 
death,  —  in  the  very  calmness  of  desperation,  the 
young  man  entered  into  a  calculation  as  to  the  length 
of  time  it  would  take  before  the  tide  would  be  breast- 
high,  before  it  would  reach  the  lip,  before  it  would 
prevent  the  last  bubbling  breath !  A  stranghng  sen- 
sation, as  thus  in  imagination  he  followed  the  rising 
waters,  aroused  him  from  the  reverie,  and,  giving  a 
convulsive  gasp,  with  a  sickness  of  heart  not  to  be 
described,  he  was  about  turning  toward  the  far-distant 
shore,  barely  discernible  in  the  thick  haze  which  had 
settled  down  upon  it,  it  may  be  with  the  faint  hope 
of  observing  some  sign  of  relief,  though  in  what  shape 
it  would  come  he  had  not  even  a  vague  idea,  —  he  was 
in  the  act  of  turning,  we  say,  when  his  eye  detected  a 
slight  ripple  in  the  water,  some  distance  seaward,  and 
presently  he  discovered  a  black  object  slowly  crossing 
the  narrow  line  of  light.  He  started,  and  bent  his  gaze 
eagerly  in  the  direction,  while  his  heart  throbbed  with 
a  tumultuous  violence.  At  first  he  thought  it  was  some 
inhabita:6t  of  the  deep,  a  shark,  perhaps,  attracted  to  the 
spot  by  the  scent  of  human  prey,  and  a  thrill  of  terror 
shot  through  his  frame  at  the  idea  of  falling  into  the 
power  of  the  voracious  monster.  Although  but  a 
short  time  before  he  had  prayed  to  be  relieved  from 
the  torments  of  a  lingering  death,  yet  he  trembled  as 
the  idea  occurred  that  perhaps  the  object  before  him 
was  the  terrible  instrument  of  relief,  sent  in  answer  to 
his  petition.     He  held  his  breath  while  the  dark  object 


60  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

was  crossing  the  track  of  the  moonbeam,  when  sud- 
denly a  bright  ray  of  hope  flashed,  lightning-like, 
through  the  gloom  of  his  despair. 

0,  what  a  wild  cry  of  joy  rang  over  the  Avaters, 
more  like  a  maniac-shriek  of  mirth  than  a  glad  out- 
burst of  sanity,  as,  tearing  his  garments  from  him  in 
frenzy,  the  young  man  plunged  into  the  sea.  Dash- 
ing the  water  aside  in  his  swift  career,  a  few  vigorous 
strokes  carried  him  to  that  dark  object.  God  be 
praised !  it  was  a  floating  spar,  the  fragment  of  the 
mast  of  some  large  vessel,  drifting  with  the  current. 
One  nervous  grasp,  one  convulsive  effort,  and  the 
panting  swimmer  threw  himself  at  length  along  its 
slippery  surface,  while  a  fervent  prayer  of  gratitude 
rose  to  his  lips.  He  was  safe,  safe  !  He  felt  that  his 
deliverance  was  sure,  precarious  -as  was  his  situation. 
No  longer  did  the  smile  on  the  ocean  appear  to  him 
like  a  mockery :  he  now  saw  that  it  was  a  beam  of 
mercy,  sent  in  the  darkest  hour  of  his  peril,  and  to 
Him  who  ordered  it  was  poured  forth  thanks  as 
devout  as  ever  fell  from  human  lips. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination. 

Shakspeare. 

The  dread  of  evil  ia  the  worst  of  ill. 

Proctoe. 

Busily  occupied  throughout  the  day,  and  knowing 
that  the  young  men  did  not  intend  to  return  until 
evening,  Ellen  did  not  at  first  regard  their  prolonged 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  61 

absence ;  altlioiigli,  as  the  afternoon  wore  away  and 
the  shadows  began  to  lengthen,  she  cast  frequent 
glances  towards  the  entrance  of  the  cove,  momentarily 
expecting  the  return  of  the  boat.  As  the  sun  went 
down  and  the  shades  of  evening  deepened  into  twi- 
light, she  began  to  experience  an  anxiety  which  grew 
stronger  and  stronger  as  the  hour  grew  later.  To 
relieve  her  mind,  she  visited  the  promontory  known  as 
the  Hawk's  Nest,  hoping  to  catch  sight  of  the  absen- 
tees. 

A  strong  feeling  of  apprehension  filled  her  mind  as 
she  cast  a  hasty  glance  in  the  offing  without  perceiv- 
ing the  object  of  her  search.  A  slight  smoky  haze 
hung  round  the  shore  and  prevented  her  seeing  far 
in  the  distance,  yet  at  one  time  she  thought  she  caught 
the  glimpse  of  a  sail  in  the  direction  whence  she 
expected  the  fishermen.  It  was  but  a  transient 
glance,  and  vainly  did  she  strain  her  eyes  to  obtain 
a  second.  Nothing  met  her  sight  but  the  dull  waste 
of  waters. 

The  anxiety  of  the  wrecker's  daughter  momentarily 
increased.  She  could  not  account  for  the  prolonged 
absence  of  the  young  men.  The  weather  had  been 
pleasant  and  moderate,  the  breeze,  which  had  fresh- 
ened considerably  since  nightfall,  and  the  tide,  were 
directly  in  their  favor:  what  could  detain  them? 
Some  accident  must  have  befallen  them,  something  or 
other  have  transpired  to  keep  them  out  so  late.  What 
could  it  be  ? 

A  fearful  thought  now  flashed  upon  her  mind: 
strange  that  it  had  slumbered  so  long !  She  remem- 
bered her  interview  with  Antonio,  she  remembered  his 
threatening    language,  the   terrible  warning   (for  it 


G2  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

reached  her  ears)  uttered  in  that  moment  of  passion. 
The  whole  scene,  the  fiery  aspect  of  the  Spaniard,  the 
sardonic  tone,  all,  all  came  freshly  to  her  mind.  Mer- 
ciful Heaven !  what  should  prevent  the  execution  of 
his  jealous  vengeanc%  when  such  an  opportunity 
offered,  —  alone  with  his  intended  victim,  away  from 
all  human  help,  with  no  scrutinizing  eye  to  mark  the 
deed,  no  babbling  tongue  to  tell  the  tale?  It  was  but 
a  blow  unawares,  and  the  deed  was  done.  Her  fears 
thus  aroused,  the  whole  minutise  of  the  dreadful  scene 
was  pictured  to  her  excited  fanc}^  She  saw  the  little 
boat  floating  a  lone  thing  on  the  wide  ocean,  she 
caught  the  dark  glance  of  the  Spaniard  watching  for 
the  most  favorable  moment.  Ah !  the  murderous  blow 
was  given.  She  beheld  her  lover  weltering  in  his  gore, 
his  impotent  struggles;  nay,  so  much  was  her  imagina- 
tion wrought  upon,  she  thought  she  heard  the  sullen 
plash  as  the  bleeding  victim  was  thrust  into  the  sea, 
and  the  last  bubbling  cry  as  the  waters  closed  over 
him.  Shrieking  almost  with  the  intensity  of  feeling 
excited  by  the  scene  thus  conjured  up,  she  darted 
from  the  spot  and  hastened  home,  determined  to  pre- 
vail on  her  father  to  go  out  in  search  of  the  missing. 

The  old  man  laughed  at  the  fears  of  Ellen  when  she 
informed  him  of  her  suspicions  of  Antonio's  treach- 
ery, and  tried  to  ridicule  her  out  of  her  "foolish 
whim,"  as  he  termed  it.  "  My  word  for  it,  Nell,  the 
lad's  honest.  I've  known  him  from  a  boy,  and 
though  he  is  quick  tempered,  and  ready  to  take 
offence,"  said  the  old  man,  "he'd  never  commit  so 
foul  a  crime.  No,  no,  girl,  you  wrong  him.  Fear 
has  made  you  unjust." 

"  But,  father^  what  should  keep  them  so  late  ? " 


THE  wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  CS 

inquired  Ellen,  not  at  all  relieved  by  her  parent's 
assurance ;  ^'  the  sun  went  down  an  hour  ago,  and  still 
they  are  not  in  sight." 

"  What  of  that,  my  child?  Perhaps  the  fish  did  not 
take  to  the  hook  freely,  and,  not  wishing  to  come  home 
without  bringing  some  tokens  of  their  skill,  they  did 
not  leave  the  ground  quite  so  early  as  they  otherwise 
would ;  or  perhaps  they  found  the  sport  so  good  the 
time  slipped  away  unnoticed.  Cheer  up,  Nell ;  your 
lover  is  safe  enough,  and  will  be  here  betimes.'^ 

Not  yet  satisfied,  Ellen  still  urged  her  request.  She 
had  never  mentioned  to  her  parents  her  rejection  of 
Antonio's  suit.  A  natural  feeling  of  delicacy  had  pre- 
vented her  making  it  known;  but  her  anxiety  now 
grew  so  great  she  determined  on  revealing  it.  She 
told  the  old  man  the  whole  circumstances  of  the  inter- 
view, of  the  mge  of  Antonio,  and  of  his  fearful 
denunciation. 

"Ah,  there  is  something  in  that;  the  girl  has  reason 
for  her  fears,  though  I  have  too  good  opinion  of  the 
lad  to  distrust  him,"  muttered  the  wrecker  to  himself. 

His  wife,  who  did  not  coincide  in  her  husband's 
favorable  estimation  of  Antonio's  character,  on  hear- 
ing Ellen's  story  caught  some  of  her  alarm,  and  joined 
in  persuading  him  to  go  out. 

Yielding  at  last  to  their  united  importunities  and  to 
the  too  evident  distress  of  Ellen,  he  consented  to  go 
in  search  of  the  boat. 

"  The  breeze  is  freshening  fast,"  said  he,  "  and  blow- 
ing right  into  the  cove,  and  by  the  time  we  have 
worked  our  way  out,  no  doubt  we  shall  fall  in  with 
them,  and  be  laughed  at  for  our  pains.  However,  the 
young  fellows  shall  not  know  our  errand;"  and  the 


6-1:  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

old  man  started  to  muster  a  crew  and  get  under  way. 
It  was  not  long  ere  the  impatient  girl  was  in  some 
slight  measure  relieved  by  the  sight  of  the  schooner 
stretching  across  the  cove,  making  short  tacks  as  she 
slowly  worked  her  way  into  the  open  sea. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

No  hand  did  aid  him  ; 
Alone  he  breasted  the  broad  wave,  alone 
That  man  was  saved.  Matukix 

I  cannot  speak,  tears  so  obstruct  my  words 
And  choke  me  with  unutterable  joy. 

Otway. 

It  had  got  to  be  pretty  well  along  in  the  evening 
by  the  time  the  schooner  had  beat  out  of  the  cove. 
A  thin,  white,  luminous  mist  hung  like  a  silvery  veil 
over  the  land,  enveloping  the  whole  coast  in  its  deli- 
cate folds ;  but  about  a  pistol-shot  from  the  shore  the 
atmosphere  was  perfectly  clear,  and  the  moon  looked 
down  in  unclouded  brightness. 

It  was  but  a  short  time  before  the  little  wrecking- 
schooner  emerged  from  the  land  fog  into  the  clear 
moonlight. 

"  Strange,  strange  where  they  can  be ! "  muttered 
the  old  man  to  himself  as  he  threw  a  hasty  glance 
over  the  glistening  ocean.  "Do  you  see  anything 
there  for'ard  ?  "  he  demanded,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Not  a  sign  of  a  thing,  sir," 

"  Keep  a  good  look-out,  —  they  must  be  somewhere 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  65 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir !  "  was  the  prompt  response  from  one 
of  the  hands,  who  %vas  stationed  in  the  weather  fore 
rigging,  gazing  into  the  offing. 

The  breeze  had  now  begun  to  freshen  fast,  causing 
quite  a  smart  chop  of  the  sea ;  the  sky  looked  watery, 
and  there  appeared  every  sign  of  a  coming  storm, 

"  Greasy-looking  weather,"  said  one  of  the  men,  as 
he  casi  a  glance  at  the  southern  sky.  "There  is  a 
south-easter  breeding,  and  we  shall  have  an  ugly  night 
of  it." 

Throwing  hasty  glances  around  him  without  seeing 
the  object  of  his  search,  the  wrecker  himself  now  be- 
gan to  grow  a  little  anxious.  The  wind  had  been  fair 
all  day  for  the  return  of  the  boat,  if  she  had  gone  on 
to  the  usual  fishing  ground ;  and  what  could  prolong 
her  stay  was  a  mystery  to  him.  He  began  to  think 
some  accident  had  occurred,  for  he  could  not  bring 
his  mind  to  believe  that  Ellen's  suspicions  of  Antonio 
were  true. 

The  schooner  had  just  weathered  Dead  Man's 
Ledge,  and  was  standing  to  the  southward,  close- 
hauled  on  the  wind,  when  one  of  the  men  forward 
sung  out  that  he  saw  something  floating  in-shore.  The 
words  liad  &e2.rcely  left  his  lips  when  a  distant  hail 
came  from  the  quarter  designated.  All  eyes  were 
turned  in  that  direction,  but  for  some  time  nothing 
could  be  seen,  even  the  man  himself  who  first  dis- 
covered the  object  having  lost  sight  of  it.  Shortly  a 
second  "  Holloa  "  came  faintly  over  the  water,  and  in 
a  patch  of  moonlight,  that  glimmered  about  an  eighth 
of  a  mile  or  more  on  their  lee  quarter,  a  small  object 
was  just  visible,  floating  on  the  surface ;  but  what  it 
was  they  could  not  make  out. 
6^ 


6(>  FOREST    AX])    .SHORE. 

•'  It  is  the  boat !  She  is  capsized,  and  they  are  on 
lier  bottom ! "  was  the  starthng  exclamation  of  the 
old  man,  as  he  jammed  the  helm  hard  a-port  and  bore 
away  for  the  object. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  white  squall,"  he  continued, 
as  the  schooner  wore,  and  was  running  down  before  a 
smart  breeze  —  "a  catspaw  —  a  sudden  flaw  from  the 
land:  for  we  have  had  no  wind  on  shore  to-day." 

As  the  schooner  drew  near  the  supposed  boat,  so 
that  objects  could  be  more  distinctly  observed,  some 
one  remarked  there  was  but  one  person  to  be  seen. 

^'  Only  one  ?  only  one  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  quickly ; 
"  then  the  other  is  lost.  Pray  God  it  be  not  young 
Irving.  Boat  ahoy  !  "  he  shouted  in  the  same  breath, 
and  in  an  excited  voice. 

''  Holloa  !  "  was  the  answer  sent  back. 

"Who — who  answers?"  again  sfiouted  the  wrecker, 
with  a  tremulous  stammer. 

"  Mr.  Irving,  sir.'' 

"  Thank  God  for  that ! "  exclaimed  the  old  fellow, 
in  a  hearty  tone.     "  Where  is  Antonio  ?  " 

"  Gone  off,"  was  the  reply. 

'-  Gone  off —  gone  off,"  repeated  the  skipper  to 
himself,  puzzled  at  the  answer;  "I  don't  understand. 
He  means  fell  off.  Antonio  has  slipped  his  hold,  poor 
fellow,  and  gone  to  the  bottom.  You  mean  Antonio 
is  gone  —  drowned  I  "  again  shouted  the  wrecker. 

"  Yes,  sir,  gone, — not  drowned,  but  gone  off!  "  was 
Irving's  reply,  emphasizing  the  last  two  words. 

The  old  man  was  nonplussed ;  but  he  had  not  time 
to  ask  for  a  more  explicit  answer,  as  he  had  to  attend 
to  the  duty  of  relieving  the  sufferer  from  his  uncom- 
fortable situation.  • 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  67 

Running  a  little  to  the  leeward,  the  schooner  was 
dexterously  brought  up  in  the  wind,  so  that,  as  she 
ranged  ahead,  her  sails  shivering  the  while,  the  sup- 
posed boat  was  brought  close  under  her  lee.  Four 
men  were  stationed,  two  in  the  fore  and  two  in  the 
main  rigging,  ready  to  seize  upon  the  young  man. 

'^  Holloa  !  what's  this, —  a  log  ?  "  exclaimed  one  of 
the  men,  as  the  mast  grazed  the  side  of  the  vessel. 
The  next  moment  Irving  was  in  the  brawny  grasp 
of  two  of  the  crew,  and  almost  before  he  was  aware 
of  it  he  stood  safe  and  sound  on  the  schooner's  deck, 
though  coatless,  hatless,  and  dripping  with  brine. 

"  God  bless  you, my  dear  fellow!"  said  the  wrecker, 
seizing  the  hand  of  the  bewildered  youth ;  and  "  How 
is  this?  how  came  you  on  that  log?  where  is  the 
boat  ?  where 's  Antonio  ? "  were  the  questions  show- 
ered upon  him  from  all  quarters. 

A  few  words  sufficed  to  explain  the  whole  matter, 
and  curses,  loud  and  deep,  were  invoked  on  the  head 
of  the  treacherous  Spaniard  by  the  indignant  crew. 

"  He  cannot  have  got  far  with  this  wind,"  said  one ; 
"  let  US  go  in  pursuit  of  the  black-hearted  villain." 

"  Agreed,  let 's  have  him  back  !  "  was  the  response 
of  the  others ;  and  had  not  Irving  interfered  and  per- 
suaded them  to  leave  him  to  his  fate,  the  fugitive 
would  no  doubt  have  been  followed  and  taken,  and, 
perhaps,  have  tasted  of  the  mercies  of  the  ancient 
Lynch  law,  which,  among  those  rude  men,  it  is  prob- 
able would  not  have  been  very  tenderly  administered. 

"  Ay,  let  Tis  leave  him  to  his  fate,"  said  the  old  man, 
"and  a  sad  one  it  will  be,  too,  if  I  am  not  deceived  in 
the  present  signs.  If  the  wind  holds  as  it  does  now 
he  cannot  make  a  harbor,  unless  he  runs  for  the  cove, 


C8  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

which  it  is  not  likely  he  will  do;  and  if  he  attempts  to 
stay  out  and  weather  the  storm  that  is  breeding,  the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul,  —  he  will  never  see  day- 
light again! " 

The  old  man's  advice  was  followed,  and  in  a  short 
time  the  schooner  was  on  her  way  running  for  the 
cove. 

With  feelings  little  to  be  envied,  Ellen  awaited  the 
return  of  the  vessel,  trembling  with  apprehension  as 
first  one  and  then  another  hour  slowly  passed  away 
without  her  arrival.  Again  and  again  had  she  visited 
the  different  headlands  in  the  hope  of  catching  sight 
of  the  returning  sail;  but  the  mist  was  so  dense  she 
could  not  pierce  its  thick  folds. 

At  last  the  schooner  hove  in  sight  and  entered  the 
cove.  The  wrecker's  daughter  hurried  down  to  the 
shore,  and,  crouching  under  a  cliff,  waited  with  the 
most  intense  anxiety  to  learn  the  result  of  the  search. 
Her  fears  were  painfully  heightened  when  she  noticed 
that  the  small  boat  was  not  in  tow.  A  faint,  sickly 
feeling  crept  over  her  at  the  dread  silence  which 
reigned  on  board  of  the  schooner,  for  not  a  word  was 
spoken.  They  had  been  unsuccessful,  or  perhaps  the 
body  had  been  found.  As  this  terrible  thought  oc- 
curred to  her,  a  dizzy,  swimming  sensation  in  the  head 
caused  her  to  lean  upon  the  rocks  for  support. 

But  the  poor  girl  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense. 
Edward  was  the  first  to  step  on  shore,  and,  just  as  the 
senses  of  the  despairing  girl  were  failing  her,  he  hap- 
pened to  make  some  casual  remark.  The  first  word 
had  barely  escaped  his  hps,  when  a  quick,  wild  cry  of 
joy  met  his  ear.  Turning  on  the  instant,  he  felt  him- 
self clasped  in  the  convulsive  embrace  of  the  half  dis- 


THE  WRECKERS  DAUGHTER.  69 

tracted  maiden,  who  leaned  trembling  and  sobbing  like 
a  child  upon  his  bosom.  That  moment  repaid  him  for 
all  his  suffering. 

It  was  a  happy  household  gathered  beneath  the 
wrecker's  roof  that  night.  And  as  Edward  related  his 
story,  and  told  of  the  peril  he  had  passed  through, 
and  described  the  feelings  he  experienced  on  that  lone 
rock,  away  from  all  human  help,  night  coming  on,  and 
the  greedy  tide  creeping  every  moment  nearer  and 
nearer,  bringing  with  it  death  in  its  most  fearful  shape ; 
as  he  spoke  of  clinging  to  the  drifting  mast,  weak  and 
exhausted,  and  every  moment  in  danger  of  losing  his 
hold  as  it  rolled  and  was  tossed  about  by  the  rising 
billows ;  of  the  agony  he  experienced  as  he  found  him- 
self borne  slowly  towards  the  breakers  on  shore,  now 
whitened  by  the  angry  foam,  certain,  as  he  was,  if  he 
should  be  dashed  among  them  his  doom  would  be 
sealed, — as  he  dwelt  on  these  circumstances,  a  thrill  of 
horror  ran  through  the  listeners.  And  when  the  man 
of  God  invoked  a  blessing  ere  they  separated  for  the 
night,  and  in  simple  though  forcible  language  alluded 
to  the  events  of  the  day,  and  with  fervid  eloquence 
returned  thanks  to  the  Omniscient  and  Omnipresent 
Being  for  the  w^onderful  preservation  and  deliverance 
he  had  vouchsafed,  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  present, 
while  the  wrecker's  daughter  gave  expression  to  her 
highly  excited  feelings  by  audible  sobs,  which  she 
vainly  strove  to  restrain. 

Nor  was  he  forgotten  who,  with  the  foul  crime  of 
murder  on  his  soul,  was  that  night  a  fugitive  and 
wanderer.  Pardon  w^as  implored  for  him,  the  wrath 
of  an  offended  God  deprecated,  and  fervent  petitions 
put  up  to  the  throne  of  mercy  that  he  might  be  pre- 


70  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

served  from  the  gathering  storra,  and  be  led  to  a 
hearty  and  sincere  repentance.  Such  was  the  influ- 
ence of  that  simple  invocation,  every  evil  feeling 
toward  the  intended  murderer  was  banished  from  the 
hearts  of  those  who  listened  to  it.  Could  their  voices 
have  reached  him,  they  would  unitedly  have  echoed 
the  merciful  injunction,  "  Go,  and  sin  no  more  !  " 

But  the  prayer  of  the  good  man  did  not  avail  the 
wretched  offender.  The  storm  came  upon  him  long 
before  he  reached  the  place  of  his  destination,  which 
lay  a  score  of  miles  or  more  to  the  windward.  As 
he  beheld  its  approach  his  cowardly  heart  at  first 
prompted  him  to  run  back  to  the  rock  and  take  off 
his  intended  victim;  but  a  moment's  reflection  con- 
vinced him  that  long  ere  then  he  must  have  been 
washed  away  by  the  rising  waters.  Not  daring  to 
return  to  the  cove,  for  he  well  knew  he  could  frame 
no  plausible  excuse  for  Irving's  absence,  he  strove 
with  the  recklessness  of  despair  to  work  his  way 
along,  carrying  sail  for  this  purpose  until  his  frail 
masts  bent  Hke  rods,  and  at  the  perilous  risk,  every 
moment,  of  the  struggling  boat's  capsizing.  The  wind 
still  continuing  to  freshen  and  the  sea  to  roughen,  he 
was  obliged  to  reduce  his  sail.  Ere  long  the  gale 
raged  with  such  violence  that  his  little  boat  was 
tossed  like  a  plaything  amid  the  angry  surges.  At 
last  he  lost  all  control  of  her,  and,  shaking  with 
guilt  and  fear,  he  found  himself  drifting  rapidly 
toward  the  precipitous  rocks  that  lined  the  shore, 
forming  an  unbroken  and  inaccessible  wall,  against 
which  the  huge  billows  thundered  and  recoiled  in  a 
seething  mass  of  foam. 

The  horrors  of  his  hopeless   situation  were   now 


THE    VrUECKER'S    DAUGHTER.  71 

fully  realized,  and,  with  an  anguish  of  mind  which  the 
pen  can  but  faintly  describe,  he  saw  that  the  misera- 
ble death  to  which  he  had  doomed  another,  a  Greater 
than  he  had  decreed  to  himself.  He  would  have 
prayed,  but  when  he  lifted  his  eyes  towards  the  black 
and  frowning  heavens,  conscience  was  busy  at  his 
heart  with  her  worse  than  scorpion-stings,  and  the 
half-uttered  words  died  upon  his  white  &nd  trembling 
lips.  Even  he  felt  that  it  would  be  blasphemous  to 
appeal  to  Him,  who  has  said,  "  Thou  shalt  not  kill,'^ 
w^hile  the  blood  of  a  fellow-mortal  dyed  his  soul. 

On  and  on  drifted  the  frail  bark,  now  whirled  amid 
the  foam  that  crested  the  black  billows,  and  now  rush- 
ing down  the  watery  hollows,  in  whose  awful  depths 
the  rack  and  tumult  of  the  storm  was  unfelt.  0,  in 
those  momentary  pauses,  in  that  brief,  dread  silence, 
hemmed  in  by  liquid  walls,  and  plunged  into  a  gloom 
as  fearful  as  that  of  the  eternal  abyss,  not  daring  to 
call  upon  his  God,  and  scourged  by  the  unrelenting 
monitor  within,  who  can  portray  the  soul-rending 
agony  endured  by  that  poor  wretch? 

Racked  quite  to  frenzy  by  the  horrors  that  thick- 
ened around  him,  at  last  he  fancied  he  could  hear, 
amid  the  tumult  of  the  elemental  uproar,  the  gibber- 
ing of  unearthly  voices  mocking  his  fears;  and,  as  he 
drifted  near  the  fatal  rocks,  and  caught  sight  of  the 
angry  gleam  of  the  spray  as  it  was  dashed  high  up  the 
sides  of  the  black  cliff,  his  imagination  converted  the 
sheets  of  foam  into  spectral  forms  beckoiiing  him  on 
to  destruction. 

A  loud,  piercing  hoiol^  rather  than  shriek,  of  anguish 
rose  high  above  the  noise  of  the  tempest,  as,  lifted 
upon  a  huge  roller,  the  boat  was  borne  with  lightning- 


72  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

like  rapidity  toward  the  jagged  rocks.  Twice  arose 
the  fearful  cry,  once  on  the  wave  and  once  high  in  the 
air,  whither  the  miserable  wretch  was  thrown  like  a 
weed  by  the  shock  of  the  giant-wave  as  it  burst  on  the 
shore,  —  and  all  was  over  !  A  fearful  retribution  had 
been  exacted.  Who  will  question  the  deahngs  of  a 
just  and  righteous  God? 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed, 
As  from  her  lord,  her  governor,  her  king. 

Shakspeare. 

His  house  she  enters,  there  to  be  a  light 
Shining  within,  when  all  without  is  night; 
A  guardian  angel  o'er  his  life  presiding, 
Doubling  his  pleasures,  and  his  cares  dividing! 

Rogers. 

The  day  at  last  arrived  to  which  the  young  couple 
had  looked  forward  with  so  much  interest.  To 
Irving  it  was  one  of  unalloyed  happiness  ;  and,  though 
Ellen  shared  largely  in  the  same  feeling,  yet  other  and 
conflicting  emotions  agitated  her  breast.  She  was 
about  leaving  the  home  of  her  youth,  the  arms  of 
those  who  had  ever  shielded  her  with  the  most  affec- 
tionate tenderness,  to  reside  amongst  perfect  stran- 
gers. From  the  very  depths  of  humble  retirement, 
she  was  about  emerging  into  the  great  world  of  which 
she  had  heard  so  little,  and  concerning  which  her  con- 
ceptions were  so  very  indistinct.  More  than  all,  she 
was   about  stepping   from   lowly  obscurity  into  the 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  73 

highest  walks  of  life,  to  take  rank  and  associate  with 
those  born  to  wealth  and  all  the  consequence  attached 
to  it,  with  those  intimately  conversant  with  all  the 
etiquette  of  fashionable  society,  accomplished  in  man- 
ners, and  possessing  cultivated  minds.  No  wonder,  as 
she  thought  of  her  humble  condition,  her  ignorance  of 
the  routine  of  the  world,  that  she  should  shrink  as  she 
contemplated  the  path  before  her. 

Limited  as  had  been  her  education,  untutored  as 
she  was  in  the  usages  of  society,  wanting,  as  she 
deemed  herself,  in  those  elegant  accomplishments 
which  lend  such  a  grace  to  the  person,  how  should 
she  conduct  herself?  What  would  be  her  reception 
among  those  to  whom  she  was  about  to  be  intro- 
duced ?  These  reflections,  natural  to  one  in  her  sit- 
uation, crowded  with  much  force  on  her  mind.  It 
was  some  relief  to  her,  however,  that  she  was  not  to 
be  ushered  at  once  into  scenes  so  entirely  strange ; 
for  it  was  Irving's  intention  not  to  proceed  directly 
home  with  his  bride,  but  to  spend  some  time  on  a 
tour,  visiting  various  places  of  fashionable  resort,  pos- 
sibly for  the  very  purpose  of  affording  her  an  insight 
into  the  manners  and  customs  of  society,  where  she 
could  observe,  without  being  obliged  to  mingle  with, 
the  gay  throng. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  day  the  ceremony  took  place. 
The  rites  were  performed  by  the  itinerant  sojourner, 
who  alluded  in  his  prayer  to  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  the  occasion,  praying  that  the  bride  might  be  kept 
unspotted  from  that  world  which  she  was  now  for  the 
first  time  entering,  and  that  he  who  had  won  her  from 
the  retired  and  quiet  scenes  of  her  youth  would  guard 
and  guide  her  in  the  strange  and  crooked  paths  that 
7 


74  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

were  spread  before  her.  With  a  plainness  of  speech 
which  evinced  that  his  words  came  from  the  heart,  he 
charged  the  young  man  to  cherish  the  treasure  com- 
mitted to  his  keeping,  for  to  him  alone  could  she  look, 
and  on  him  alone  could  she  lean,  in  those  untried 
scenes  on  which,  for  his  sake  alone,  she  was  now 
about  to  enter.  It  was  a  simple  though  touching 
'appeal,  and  was  not  without  its  effect  on  the  young 
bridegroom. 

The  ceremony  was  over,  and  the  moment  of  parting 
arrived.  Every  one  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  little 
hamlet  clustered  around  the  door  of  the  wrecker^s 
dwelling,  to  bid  farewell  to  one  beloved  by  them  all ; 
and,  amid  the  homely  though  sincere  expressions  of 
regret  of  the  neighbors,  and  the  blessings  of  her  own 
family,  Ellen  left  the  humble  roof,  now  dearer  to  her 
than  ever. 

Many  and  many  were  the  lingering  looks  she  cast, 
as  the  carriage  moved  slowly  over  the  rough  and  un- 
trodden road,  on  the  cherished  scenes  she  was  leaving. 
Headland  after  headland  gradually  was  lost  to  sight, 
fainter  and  fainter  grew  the  murmur  of  the  sea, — 
sound  familiar  to  her  ears,  —  and  at  last  the  broad 
ocean,  sparkling  in  the  gay  sunbeams  as  if  rejoicing  in 
the  happiness  of  the  young  bride,  faded  from  her 
view.  A  tear  glistened  in  her  eye,  and  a  sigh  was 
forced  from  her  lips,  as  the  last  strip  of  blue,  by  a 
turn  in  the  road,  was  shut  from  her  lingering  gaze. 

But,  as  she  journeyed  on,  leaving  the  barren  scenes 
she  had  ever  been  accustomed  to,  and  entering  upon 
others  where  nature  assumed  a  more  inviting  aspect, 
—  as  for  the  first  time  she  beheld  dense  woodlands, 
clothed  in  their  liveries  of  living  green,  broad  fields 


THE   wrecker's    DAUGHTER.  75 

spread  out  in  the  highest  state  of  cultivation,  verdant 
lawns  and  blooming  gardens,  decked  with  flowers  of 
every  hue,  —  as  these  constantly  recurring  objects 
were  presented  to  her  view,  and  the  sweet  melody  of 
birds  at  times  broke  upon  her  ear,  her  thoughts  were 
turned  into  a  new  channel ;  sadness  forsook  her  coun- 
tenance, her  eye  kindled,  and  a  rich  glow  lighted  up 
her  face,  while  she  gazed  with  unsatiated  delight  on 
what  appeared  to  her  scenes  of  perfect  enchantment. 
"  Beautiful,  beautiful  w^orld  !  "  burst  almost  uncon- 
sciously from  her  lips,  as,  ascending  a  sHght  rising  in 
the  road,  a  wide  and  charming  landscape  was  revealed 
to  the  travellers'  sight.  The  scene  was  one  on  which 
Nature  seemed  to  have  lavished  her  gifts  with  an  un- 
stinted hand.  "  Well  can  I  enter  into  the  feehngs  of 
the  poet,"  she  continued,  "  when  he  exclaimed,  — 

*'  *  0,  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 

Of  charms  which  Nature  to  her  votary  yields  ! 
The  warbling  woodland,  the  resounding  shore, 

The  pomp  of  groves,  and  garniture  of  fields  ; 
All  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gUds, 

And  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even, 
All  that  the  mountain's  sheltering  bosom  shields. 

And  all  the  dread  magnificence  of  heaven.' 

You  need  not  smile  :  it  is  one  of  your  own  marked 
passages  in  your  favorite  ^  Minstrel,'  Beattie,"  added 
Ellen,  blushing  at  her  own  enthusiasm. 

Edward  gazed  with  a  passionate  fondness  into  the 
face  of  his  lovely  bride,  as  she  thus  gave  expression 
to  her  enraptured  feeling.  Is  it  not  Moore  who  has 
something  to  say  about  the  charms  of  nature,  how 
much  they  improve  when  reflected  from  looks  that  we 
love?    Be  that  as  it  may,  our  young  traveller  thought 


76  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

the  world  never  appeared  so  beautiful,  the  fields  so 
green,  the  flowers  so  fair,  the  sky  so  blue,  the  warbling 
of  birds  so  delicious,  as  on  that  self-same  journey. 
The  weather  was  delightful,  and  all  nature  seemed  to 
sympathize  and  to  be  in  harmony  with  his  feelings. 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  linger  with  the  "happy 
pair "  on  their  bridal  tour,  and  paint  the  emotions 
experienced  by  the  young  bride  as  she  entered  upon 
the  new  and  untried  scenes  that  daily  opened  before 
her.     But  we  must  hasten  on  with  our  story. 

After  visiting  various  cities  and  watering-places, 
after  presenting  Ellen  to  the  too-much-dreaded  world, 
Irving  gladly  turned  his  face  homeward,  impatient  to 
introduce  his  beautiful  bride  to  his  own  family.  He 
felt  not  a  little  proud  of  her,  for  her  unshadowed  love- 
liness was  the  universal  theme  of  praise  wherever  she 
went,  and  her  unassuming  bearing  won  her  the  re- 
gards of  all.  Though  she  shrank  at  first,  with  a  nat- 
ural timidity,  as  she  encountered  successively  scenes 
she  was  entirely  unaccustomed  to,  her  embarrassment 
soon  wore  ofi".  Intuitively  she  caught  that  air  and 
tone,  that  easy  and  graceful  address,  which  character- 
ize those  who  mingle  in  refined  circles ;  and,  though 
she  could  not  repress  a  slight  fluttering  at  the  heart 
as  she  entered  a  brilliant  assembly,  yet  there  was 
nothing  in  her  outward  deportment,  save,  perhaps,  a 
total  absence  of  afiectation,  of  those  starched,  artificial 
manners,  assumed  by  those  to  whom  Nature  has  been 
chary  of  her  gifts,  to  distinguish  her  from  the  rest  of 
the  throng. 

With  a  deep  feeling  of  joy  —  for  he  longed  for  the 
quiet  of  domestic  repose,  the  substantial  enjoyment 
of  home  comfort  —  Edward  Irving  entered  upon  the 


THE  WEECKER'S  DAUGHTER.  77 

last  stage  of  his  journey.  Soon  tlie  familiar  scenes 
of  his  childhood  came  in  view ;  and,  when  he  entered 
on  his  own  inheritance,  he  began  to  anticipate  with 
much  interest  the  meeting  so  near  at  hand. 

As  the  carriage  roUed  up  the  broad,  shaded  avenue 
that  led  to  the  ancestral  mansion,  he  felt  no  small 
degree  of  anxiety  as  to  the  reception  his  wife  would 
meet  with.  Well  he  knew  the  cordial  welcome  await- 
ing her  from  his  sister  and  Mrs.  Randolph;  but  he 
feared  that  his  mother's  reserve  might  throw  a  chill 
over  the  meeting,  and  thus  wound  the  feelings  of  the 
sensitive  being  beside  him,  who  looked  forward  to 
the  coming  interview  with  emotions  the  nature  of 
which  the  reader  will  easily  imagine. 

The  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door,  stopped,  the 
steps  were  let  down,  and  scarcely  had  the  foot  of  the 
new-comer  touched  the  gravelled  walk  ere  she  was 
clasped  in  the  warm  embrace  of  Caroline  Irving,  and 
welcomed  with  the  affectionate  title  of  "  sister."  Mrs. 
Randolph  stood  by  to  receive  the  agitated  bride  with 
an  embrace  and  a  welcome  not  less  warm. 

Hardly  stopping  to  welcome  Edward,  they  imme- 
diately attended  Ellen  into  the  house,  and  sought  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Irving.  Never,  perhaps,  did  she  look 
more  lovely  than  in  that  moment  of  meeting,  the 
excitement  of  the  occasion  lending  an  additional  charm 
to  her  features,  w^hile  her  neat  riding-dress  exhibited 
to  the  very  best  advantage  the  symmetrical  propor- 
tions of  her  figure.  Even  the  aristocratic  widow  was 
not  proof  against  so  much  loveliness.  She  started  on 
her  introduction,  and,  as  she  glanced  with  a  look  of 
astonishment  on  the  wondrous  beauty  of  the  bride, 

the  frost-work  of  her  pride  melted  at  once,  and  she 

7# 


78  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

folded  her  to  lier  bosom  with  an  earnestness  and  wel- 
comed her  with  a  cordiality  that  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. It  was  a  happy  meeting  to  all;  to  Edward  a 
triumphant  one ;  and  he  gazed  on  Ellen  with  an  over- 
flowing affection,  and  a  very  pardonable  degree  of 
pride,  as  she  sat  between  Mrs.  Randolph  and  Caroline, 
with  an  unstudied  elegance  of  manners,  conversing 
with  an  ease  and  freedom  as  if  she  had  been  habitu- 
ally accustomed  to  all  the  etiquette  of  fashionable 
society. 

K  the  impression 'made  by  Ellen  at  the  first  inter- 
view was  so  favorable,  subsequent  acquaintance  only 
served  to  endear  her  still  more  to  her  new  relations. 
Mrs.  Irving  was  completely  won  over,  and  bestowed 
the  full  measure  of  a  mother's  fondness  upon  her,  for- 
getting entirely  that  the  object  on  whom  she  lavished 
so  much  tenderness  was  the  poor  fishmonger's  daugh- 
ter, who,  but  a  few  months  ago,  had  aroused  all  her 
jealous  pride.  As  for  Caroline,  she  was  wholly  taken 
up  with  her  new  relation,  and  a  congeniality  of  dis- 
position and  mind  cemented  a  love  between  the  two 
as  strong  as  ever  existed  in  human  breasts. 

Mrs.  Kandolph  felt  a  peculiar  interest  in  the  young 
bride.  Edward  was  her  especial  favorite;  she  had 
espoused  his  cause,  and  it  was  natural  that  she  should 
cherish  the  object  of  his  affection.  It  was  not  a  com- 
mon interest  she  felt.  Her  heart  warmed  towards 
Ellen  with  all  the  yearnings  of  maternal  love  ;  nor 
was  the  young  bride  long  in  discovering  and  recipro- 
cating this  ardent  feeling.  There  was  a  reason  for 
this  tender  interest  on  the  part  of  one,  which  may  be 
explained  hereafter.  At  present  we  will  leave  our 
heroine,  the  humble  wrecker's  daughter,  in  the  full 


THE   wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  79 

enjoyment  of  every  bliss  vouchsafed  to  us  mortals. 
We  part  with  her,  happy  in  the  endearments  of  kin- 
dred relations,  happy  —  it  is  a  poor  word  to  use  here 
—  in  the  love  of  him  who  realized  all  her  fond  hopes, 
and  happy  in  the  esteem  of  her  acquaintance.  In 
taking  leave  of  her  we  will  adopt  the  language  of  the 
great  dramatist,  — 

♦*  And  whether  ve  shall  meet  again,  I  know  not 
Therefore  our  everlasting  farewell  take : 
*  *  *  *  # 

If  we  do  meet  again,  why,  we  shall  smile  ; 
If  not,  why,  then  this  parting  was  well  made." 


PART  II. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Go  on,  sir,  with  your  tale  —  we  've  waited  long 

Your  pleasure.  Old  Plat. 

Beshrew  my  heart,  but  it  is  wondering  strange  ; 
Sure,  there  is  something  more  than  witchcraft  in  them, 
That  masters  ev'n  the  wisest  of  us  all. 

ROWK. 

In  the  last  chapter  of  the  first  part  of  this  veritable 
history  (if  the  reader's  memory  serves)  we  hinted 
that  Mrs.  Randolph  took  an  especial  liking  to  our 
heroine,  the  humble  wrecker's  daughter,  then  the 
happy  bride  of  young  Irving,  the  reason  for  which 
we  did  not  explain.  Trusting  that  a  sufficient  interest 
has  been  excited  to  learn  what  further  fate  had  in 
Btore  for  the  young  bride,  —  for  we  must  confess  that 


80  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

her  gentle  disposition  and  the  amiable  and  lovely 
traits  she  exhibited,  and  which  we  so  poorly  por- 
trayed, have  won  for  her  our  warmest  sympathies, — 
we  will  crave  the  patience  of  our  readers  while  we 
introduce  to  their  notice  a  few  more  passages  relating 
to  her  somewhat  checkered  life. 

It  was  on  a  fine  autumnal  afternoon  that  Ellen  and 
her  sister,  Caroline  Irving,  tempted  by  the  beauty  of 
the  day,  were  sauntering  through  the  noble  park-like 
grove  which  spread  out  on  either  side  of  the  family 
mansion.  The  house  was  a  simple  and  chaste  struc- 
ture, with  a  very  inviting  aspect,  surrounded  by  every 
variety  of  inland  scenery ;  the  residence,  the  situa- 
tion, the  improvements,  all  possessing  an  air  of  wealthy 
comfort,  and  refined  taste.  It  was  just  far  enough 
removed  from  the  bustle  of  the  world  to  confer  upon 
it  a  pleasing  retirement,  and  yet  not  so  far  isolated  as 
to  give  it  a  semblance  of  unsocial  rusticity. 

"  Keally,  it  is  too  bad !  "  said  Caroline  Irving,  in  a 
mock-pettish  tone,  as  she  occupied  a  seat  fixed  be- 
neath a  wide-spread  elm,  through  whose  rustling  foli- 
age the  parting  sunbeams  flickered  with  a  pleasant 
light ;  "  it  is  too  bad,  Nell !  I  declare,  I  shall  become 
jealous  of  you  soon.  Before  you  came  I  was  the 
acknowledged  pet,  —  particularly  of  dear  aunt  Ran- 
dolph,—  but  now  poor  I  am  thrust  into  the  shade 
entirely.     I  won't  put  up  with  it,  that 's  poz  !" 

^'  But  how  are  you  going  to  help  yourself?  Tell 
me  that,  my  sweet-tempered  sis,"  rejoined  Ellen,  play- 
fully, seating  herself  beside  her,  and  twining  a  wild 
rose  in  the  dark  locks  of  her  companion. 

"  I  was  willing  to  yield  Edward  to  your  enchant 
ment,"  continued  the  maiden,  in  the  same  tone;  "but 


THE   wrecker's    DAUGUTER.  81 

no,  you  were  not  content  with  throwing  a  spell  over 
him.  There  is  mother, —  every  thought  of  hers  is 
devoted  to  you ;  and  when  aunt  pays  us  a  visit,  if  you 
happen  to  be  out,  the  first  words  that  fall  from  her 
lips  are,  'Where  is  Ellen?'  and  when  you  come  in 
there  are  no  more  words  or  looks  for  me.  I  am  so 
glad  I  have  no  gallant,  for  I  should  expect  nothing 
more  than  that  he  would  be  drawn  away  by  the  same 
witching  spell." 

'^  You  had  better  be  careful  what  you  say,  Caro. 
dear,  or  I  may  be  tempted  to  exercise  the  same 
power  over  you.  But  you  alluded  to  aunt  Randolph," 
—  for  by  that  appellation  was  the  lady  in  question 
addressed  by  the  Irving  family,  although  no  tie  of 
consanguinity  existed,  —  "  and  you  have  promised  to 
detail  to  me  the  incidents  of  her  life,  which,  I  fear, 
have  not  been  so  happy  as  her  goodness  would  seem 
to  merit.  Will  you  not  gratify  me  with  the  relation 
now  ?  for  I  confess  I  feel  a  strong  interest  to  learn 
something  of  her  past  history,  that  I  may  yield  to  her 
that  sympathy  which  is  always  due  to  those  who  have 
known  sorrow." 

"  Her  story  is  indeed  a  sad  one,"  said  Caroline, 
in  an  altered  and  melancholy  tone,  '^  and  will  awaken 
feelings  hardly  consonant  with  the  charming  scene 
around.  I  will,  however,  recount  the  event,  as  told 
me  by  mother,  which  darkened  her  early  years  and 
cast  a  shadow  over  her  whole  existence.  Let  us 
continue  our  walk,  and  I  will  speak  of  her  history  as 
we  stroll  along."  And  the  sisters  locked  their  arms, 
and  proceeded  with  a  slow  pace  in  the  shade  of  the 
overhanging  trees. 

"Aunt  Randolph  was  married,"  said  Miss  Irving  to 


8 'J  FOKEST   AND   SHORE. 

her  sister-in-law,  "  quite  young  in  life,  and  never,  per- 
haps, did  one  enter  into  the  wedded  state  with  a 
brighter  promise  of  happiness.  In  the  first  flush  of 
womanhood,  tenderly  beloved,  surrounded  by  every 
blessing  that  affluence  and  warm  friends  could  bestow, 
joy  strewed  flowers  in  her  pathway  and  hope  wove 
garlands  for  her  future.  But,  alas  I  as  the  old  poet 
asks,  — 

*'  *  What  are  our  hopes? 
Like  garlands  on  affliction's  forehead  worn, 
Kissed  in  the  morning,  and  at  evening  torn.* 

"  Captain  Randolph,  her  husband,  owned  and  com- 
manded a  flne  freighting  ship.  In  the  third  year  of 
their  marriage,  in  accordance  with  their  mutual  wishes, 
it  was  decided  that  aunt  should  accompany  him  on  a 
voyage  to  Europe,  which  he  had  determined  should 
b^  his  last,  as  he  was  possessed  of  a  handsome  prop- 
erty, and  had  grown  tired  of  the  sea.  He  was  pas- 
sionately devoted  to  his  wife ;  besides,  he  had  another 
tic,  in  the  birth  of  a  daughter,  that  led  him  to  abandon 
a  pursuit  which  necessarily  demanded  separation  and 
long  absence  from  a  home  now  doubly  endeared  to 
him. 

"  At  first  they  thought  of  leaving  their  infant  daugh- 
ter at  home,  but,  as  the  time  of  sailing  drew  nigh,  aunt 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  parting  from  her  child. 
She  evinced  so  much  reluctance,  it  was  at  last  decided 
to  take  it  with  them,  and  a  nurse  was  engaged  to 
accompany  it. 

"They  had  a  fine  passage  out  to  Liverpool,  and, 
after  remaining  some  time  in  England,  Capt.  Randolph 
and  his  wife  proceeded  to  Paris,  and  thence  to  Havre, 
to  which  port  the  ship  had  been  ordered.     Here  they 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  83 

embarked  for  home.  Nothing  unusual  transpired  on 
their  homeward  voyage  until  the  fatal  night  in  Avhich 
tlie  dreadful  event  occurred  that  in  the  same  hour  ren- 
dered our  dear  aunt  a  widow  and  childless. 

"  The  day  had  been  lowery,  but  the  wind,  though  it 
blew  rather  fresh,  was  fair,  and  they  were  cheered 
with  the  hope  of  soon  catching  sight  of  their  native 
land.  As  it  grew  near  nightfall  the  weather  thickened 
fast,  and  quite  a  gale  set  in.  There  was  nothing,  how- 
ever, to  excite  alarm,  and  the  ship,  under  easy  sail, 
dashed  over  the  billows  as  securely,  apparently,  as  if 
beneath  a  smiling  sky. 

"  It  was  about  nine  or  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
aunt  says,  she  was  sitting  in  her  state-room,  preparing 
to  retire  for  the  night,  her  husband  being  at  the  time 
on  duty.  All  at  once  she  heard  an  unusual  noise  on 
deck,  a  loud  shouting,  the  rapid  shuffling  of  feet,  min- 
gled with  the  creaking  of  yards  and  blocks,  all  denot- 
ing sudden  alarm  and  confusion. .  Immediately,  high 
above  the  uproar,  she  heard  her  husband's  voice  shout- 
ing through  a  speaking-trumpet,  '■  Port  your  helm ! 
port  your  helm,  or  you  will  be  into  us  ! '  The  startling 
exclamation  had  hardly  died  away  when  she  heard  a 
rush  down  the  companion-way,  and  the  next  moment 
her  husband  burst  into  her  state-room,  crying,  with  a 
hoarse  voice,  '  This  way,  wife,  this  way  I  Up,  for  your 
life  ! '  at  the  same  time  seizing  her  about  the  waist  and 
carrying  her  by  main  force  to  the  deck. 

"  What  follow^ed  in  the  confusion  that  prevailed  she 
can  but  indistinctly  remember.  She  recollects  seeing 
the  crew  running  wildly  about  the  decks,  uttering  the 
most  terrific  cries;  of  hearing  a  strange  rushing  sound 
in  the  water ;  then  followed  a  tremendous  crash,  which 


84  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

caused  the  ship  to  reel  and  quiver  as  if  a  thunderbolt 
had  burst  upon  her.  Bewildered  and  horror-struck  at 
the  scene  about  lier,  she  was  only  sensible  of  being 
borne  rapidly  along,  amid  the  crashing  of  spars,  the 
outcries  of  men,  and  the  dashing  of  billows,  until  she 
found  herself  in  a  strange  cabin,  surrounded  by 
strange  faces.  Imagine,  Ellen,  the  agony,  the  heart- 
rending anguish  of  that  moment,  when  the  appalling 
truth  was  revealed  to  her,  that  the  ship  in  which  she 
then  found  herself  had  run  down  that  of  her  husband, 
and  that,  in  all  probabihty,  both  her  husband  and  child 
were  lost  to  her  forever  1  I  will  not  speak  of  the  hor- 
rors of  that  night.  Language  would  fail  me  were  I 
to  attempt  to  portray  them.  Aunt  never  alludes  to 
the  event,  never  ventures  to  describe  her  situation, 
and  the  further  particulars  w^hich  I  shall  relate  of  that 
dreadful  disaster  were  derived  from  another  source. 

"It  appears,"  continued  Miss  Irving,  in  a  voice 
slightly  tremulous  with  emotion,  "that  the  ship  on 
board  of  which  aunt  found  herself  received  compara- 
tively but  trifling  injury,  while  her  husband's  was 
completely  cut  down.  It  was  ascertained  that  Captain- 
Handolph,  probably  knowing  the  damaged  condition 
of  his  ship,  immediately  exerted  himself  to  place  his 
Avife  on  board  the  strange  ship.  Having  succeeded 
in  this,  he  returned  to  his  own  vessel  to  rescue  his 
child,  who,  with  the  nurse,  was  in  one  of  the  state- 
rooms at  the  time  of  the  accident.  He  had  barely 
got  on  the  deck  of  his  own  ship,  when  the  two  vessels, 
which  had  become  locked  together  by  the  head,  were 
thrown  apart  by  a  tremendous  sea.  A  second  wave, 
it  is  supposed,  must  have  swept  the  decks  of  the  dis- 
abled ship,  as  she  lay  in  the  trough,  carrying  away 


THE    wrecker's    DAUGHTEIt.  8o 

with  it  her  unfortunate  captain,  for  his  drowning  cries 
w^ere  heard  immediately  after  at  a  distance.  It  was  so 
dark  and  tempestuous,  and  so  much  confusion  pre- 
vailed, that  nothing  could  be  done  for  his  relief,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  his  voice  was  silent.  In  the  mean 
while  the  two  vessels  had  widely  separated,  and  by 
the  time  that  the  crew  of  the  strange  ship  had  some- 
what recovered  from  their  consternation,  and  restored 
things  to  order,  the  other  vessel  had  disappeared  in 
the  gloom  of  the  storm. 

'^  Having  mustered  the  crew,  it  was  found  that,  with 
the  exception  of  Captain  Randolph,  the  child,  and  its 
nurse,  there  was  no  person  missing.  In  the  hope  of 
rescuing  the  last  two,  the  strange  ship  laid-to  during 
the  night,  trusting  that  the  Roanoke,  the  name  of  the 
ill-fated  ship,  would  be  in  sight  in  the  morning,  if 
afloat,  —  a  circumstance  hardly  within  the  bounds  of 
probability. 

'^  Slowly  the  hours  passed  away,  and  anxiously  was 
the  dawning  waited  for.  Daybreak  came  at  last,  and 
its  cold,  gray  light  revealed  to  the  weary  watchers 
nothing  but  an  angry  ocean  and  a  frowning  sky.  Not 
a  sign  nor  a  vestige  of  the  disabled  ship  could  be  seen. 
As  the  weather  moderated  and  the  daylight  increased, 
the  master  of  the  vessel  commenced  cruising  about  in 
various  directions,  until  a  late  hour  in  the  afternoon, 
without  seeing  the  missing  ship,  when  he  was  reluc- 
tantly forced  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  gone 
down.  With  a  heavy  heart,  he  conveyed  the  intelli- 
gence to  Mrs.  Randolph,  who  received  the  tidings  with 
a  calmness  wdiolly  unexpected.  Indeed,  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  blow  which  deprived  her  of  her  husband 
had  deadened  her  sensibility.  The  cup  had  been 
8 


86  FOREST-  AND   SHORE. 

drained  to  its  very  dregs,  but  its  bitterness  was 
reserved  for  the  dreary  future.  All  that  had  passed 
seemed  more  like  a  fearful  dream  than  an  actual  occur- 
rence. The  terrible  reahzation  of  her  double  loss, 
the  heaviest  weight  of  her  affliction,  was  left  for  after 
days. 

"  Fortunately  for  the  comfort  of  the  bereaved  one, 
the  ship  she  was  in  was  bound  to  a  port  not  far  distant 
from  her  own  place  of  residence.  She  soon  reached 
that  port,  whence  aunt  left  for  her  home.  It  is  need- 
less to  speak  of  her  desolation  of  heart  on  arriv- 
ing there.  Everything  spoke  of  her  loss,  every  tiling 
served  to  remind  her  of  the  departed.  She  almost 
sank  under  the  crushing  burden,  but  she  was  sus- 
tained by  One  who  always  regardeth  the  widow  in  her 
affliction.  With  a  spirit  of  holy  resignation  she  sub- 
mitted to  the  chastening  rod,  and  as  time  rolled  on 
the  bitter  became  sweet.  A  repining  murmur  was 
never  heard  to  escape  her  lips." 

"  Dear  aunt  Randolph !  I  shall  love  her  more 
strongly  than  ever,  now  that  I  know  her  sad  story," 
said  Ellen,  with  a  sigh,  as  Miss  Irving  finished  her 
narration.  And  the  young  ladies  turned  and  walked 
in  silence  and  sadness  towards  the  house. 


THE  wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  87 


CHAPTER    II. 

Ah!  sweet  it  is,  to  gaze  upon  the  face 

Long  seen  but  by  the  mind,  to  fondly  trace 

Each  look  and  smile  again.     *     *     * 

And  0,  how  pines  the  soul,  how  doth  it  crave 

Only  a  moment's  look!  Dana. 

How  frequently  in  our  walks  through  life  do  we 
meet  with  persons,  utter  strangers,  who  remind  us  of 
some  friend  or  acquaintance  long  since  gone  to  his 
rest.  There  may  be  nothing  in  the  general  features 
that  awakens  the  association,  nothing  indeed  which 
we  can  account  for  or  define,  yet  there  is  a  certain 
something  which  seems  to  recall  as  by  magic  the 
departed.  Perhaps,  if  we  scan  the  countenance  in 
search  of  the  likeness,  we  are  unsuccessful ;  and  yet 
a  hasty  glance  reveals  it  to  us  in  all  its  truthfulness. 
A  peculiarity  in  a  smile,  it  may  be,  a  particular  expres- 
sion about  the  lips  or  the  eyes,  a  slight  inclination  of 
the  head  or  movement  of  the  body,  some  such  trivial 
cause  touches  the  electric  chain  of  memory,  and  the 
image  of  the  loved  and  mourned  is  brought  for  an 
instant  before  us,  as  in  the  fleeting  phantasms  of  a 
dream. 

This  was  the  secret  of  the  strong  partiality  that 
Mrs.  Randolph  felt  for  the  younger  Mrs.  Irving.  On 
first  meeting  with  Ellen  she  detected  an  expression  in 
her  features,  something  in  her  manner,  which  brought 
instantly  before  her  the  husband  of  her  youth.  And 
yet,  when  she  cast  a  second  glance  on  the  lovely  face 
which  had  called  up  such  a  sad  remembrance,  for 
the  very  purpose  of  ascertaining  wherein   consisted 


88  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

the  likeness,  the  resemblance  had  entirely  vanished. 
Time  and  again  would  this  or  some  kindred  expres- 
sion flash  upon  her,  awakening  a  secret  thrill,  and  still, 
as  she  endeavored  to  scan  it  more  closely,  like  the 
meteor-gleam  it  was  gone.  She  scrutinized  each  look 
of  Ellen's  with  so  much  interest  that  it  must  have 
been  embarrassing  to  her,  had  she  been  aware  that  she 
was  the  object  of  such  rigid  notice.  As  it  was,  the 
mournful  earnestness  of  Mrs.  Randolph's  gaze,  which 
did  not  wholly  escape  Ellen's  observation,  aroused 
feelings  in  her  bosom  which  were  both  strange  and 
inexplicable. 

In  vain,  however,  did  Mrs.  Randolph  endeavor  to 
fix  that  look  v^hich  so  haunted  her  with  memories  of 
the  past.  She  could  not  discover  the  least  resem- 
blance between  the  features  of  Ellen,  when  they  were 
in  a  state  of  repose,  and  those  of  the  image  enshrined 
in  her  widowed  heart.  Hers  were  not  the  broad, 
expansive  forehead,  the  black,  deep-set  eyes,  the 
slightly  aquiline  nose,  and  the  full,  rounded  chin  of 
her  lamented  husband.  There  was  no  single  feature, 
nor  combination  of  features,  that  looked  natural  to 
her ;  yet,  let  but  a  smile  play  over  Ellen's  face,  or  let 
her  engage  in  an  animated  conversation,  and  there  was 
the  look,  distinct,  but  evanescent,  indefinable,  yet  not 
i^aQ  less  striking  and  apparent.  Mrs.  Randolph  called 
the  attention  of  her  friend,  the  elder  Mrs.  Irving,  to 
the  circumstance ;  but  the  passage  of  years  had 
rendered  too  indistinct  the  image  of  the  lost  on  her 
mind  to  enable  her  to  recognize  anew,  or  even  recall, 
the  minute  lineaments  of  the  deceased. 

No  wonder  that  the  lone  heart  of  the  widow  clung 
with    undisguised   fondness   to  the   object  who  pos- 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  89 

sessed  the  power  of  aTvakening  associations  so  dear 
to  it.  For  Ellen's  own  sake,  lier  amiable  disposition, 
her  kind  and  devoted  attention  to  her,  she  loved  her ; 
how  much  the  tie  that  bound  her-  to  the  young  bride 
was  strengthened  by  the  circumstance  we  have  men- 
tioned, the  reader  can  readily  imagine.  Surely  never 
did  a  mother's  heart  glow  with  a  deeper  love  toward 
the  child  of  her  affection  than  did  hers  toward  Ellen. 
She  experienced  for  her  all  the  solicitude  which  is 
deemed  natural  alone  to  the  maternal  bosom,  manifest- 
ing an  interest  in  her  happiness,  and  in  everything 
that  related  to  her  welfare,  by  a  thousand  little  acts 
of  kindness  and  tenderness,  which  spring,  as  it  were, 
from  the  instincts  of  maternity.  Need  we  say  that 
Ellen  was  sensibly  affected  by  these  demonstrations, 
and  appreciated  them  to  their  fullest  extent.  She 
strove  to  repay  them  in  kind,  while  she  was  inspired 
with  that  ardent  affection  towards  her  second  mother 
which  would  naturally  be  engendered  by  such  entire 
devotedness. 

But,  amidst  all  the  happiness  which  surrounded  her, 
the  love  and  kindness  of  friends,  the  comforts  and 
elegant  ease  of  wealth,  amidst  all  these,  did  Ellen  keep 
in  mind  the  circumstances  of  her  humble  birth?  Did 
her  thoughts  go  back  fondly  to  the  lowly  wrecker's 
wife,  and  did  her  heart  remain  constant  in  its  afifection 
to  her  rough  and  untutored  parents?  0  yes,  most 
assuredly,  yes !  EUen  was  not  one  of  those  who  grow 
giddy  by  the  gifts  of  fortune.  Dearly  as  ever  did  she 
cherish  the  rugged  scenes  of  her  youth,  warmly  as  ever 
did  her  heart  cling  to  those  who  watched  over  her 
childhood  and  guided  her  later  years ;  and  it  was  with 
feelings  of  unbounded  delight  she  anticipated  a  visit 
8* 


90  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

to  that  endeared  spot.  She  longed  to  stand  once 
more  on  the  threshold  of  the  sea,  to  hear  the  boo^m- 
ing  shout  of  the  vaulting  waves,  and  to  Avatch  the 
snow-white  foam  breaking  over  the  dark,  weed-grown 
rocks. 

With  what  pleasure  she  looked  forward  to  the  time 
when,  in  company  with  Caroline  (for  she  was  to  be 
her  companion),  she  could  rove  over  the  giant  cliffs, 
and  revisit  her  favorite  resorts  amid  the  cavernous 
rocks,  where  nature  is  exhibited  in  an  aspect  of  stern, 
wild  grandeur,  and  along  the  pebbly  shore,  up  which 
the  billows  curl  and  break  with  a  never-ceasing  roar. 
Not  once  did  the  humbleness  of  the  home  to  which 
she  would  introduce  her  high-born  sister-in-law  awaken 
an  emotion  of  regret,  nor  for  once  was  her  pride 
startled  at  the  thought  of  her  parents^  poverty  and 
lack  of  refinement.  Affection  hallowed  the  home  of 
her  childhood,  and  softened  the  rough  aspect  of  the 
whole ;  and  the  lively  and  amiable  Caroline  was  quite 
as  impatient  for  the  journey  as  Ellen.  She  had  never 
visited  the  ocean  side,  and  her  curiosity  was  stimu- 
lated to  the  highest  pitch  to  behold  its  wonders  and 
glories,  of  which  she  had  heard  and  read  so  much. 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  91 


CHAPTER    III. 

Down  her  cheeks  flowed  the  round  drops  ; 
And,  as  we  see  the  sun  shine  through  a  shower, 
So  looked  her  beauteous  eyes, 
Castmg  forth  light  and  tears  together. 

Lansdown. 

A  hundred  thousand  welcomes  !    I  could  weep, 
And  I  could  laugh  ;  I  am  light  and  heavy  ;  welcome  ! 
A  curse  begin  at  very  root  of  his  heart 
That  is  not  glad  to  see  thee  ! 

Shakspeare. 

At  a  pleasant  season  of  the  year  the  jonrney  was 
accomplished,  and  Ellen  stood  once  more  beneath  the 
wrecker's  roof.  How  dear  to  her  every  familiar 
scene !  How  like  a  flower-gatherer  did  memory  re- 
trace the  shining  track  of  the  past,  lingering  by  each 
bud  that  gave  her  young  years  such  delight !  Tears 
of  joy  glistened  in  her  eyes  as  she  witnessed  the  emo- 
tion of  her  aged  mother  on  her  meeting.  But  a  feel- 
ing of  sadness  stole  over  her  as  she  beheld,  mingling 
with  the  affectionate  cordiality  expressed  by  her  pa- 
rent, a  certain  deference  toward  herself,  —  a  show  of 
respect,  as  if  she  regarded  the  difference  in  their  con- 
ditions, and  felt  that  humility  would  best  become  her. 
The  sensitive  heart  of  Ellen  was  pained. 

"  Mother,  dear  mother ! "  said  she,  as  she  clasped 
her  in  a  warm  embrace,  "  I  am  not  changed,  I  am  still 
as  ever  your  Nell,  still  as  ever,  I  trust,  dear  to  you  !  " 
and  the  bright  tears  fell  like  diamonds  adown  the  em- 
browned neck  of  the  wrecker's  wife. 

"  Well,  I  know  you  are  not  changed,  my  child,"  re- 
plied the  mother,  with  choked  utterance  ;  "and  dearer, 


92  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

far  dearer  are  you  to  my  heart  at  tliis  moment  than 
ever.      The  choicest  blessings  of  heaven  rest  upon 

you  for  not  forgetting  your  poor  old "    What  she 

would  have  added  was  lost  in  the  half-sob  which 
escaped  her  lips  as  she  strained  the  lovely  being  con- 
vulsively to  her  bosom. 

It  was  a  happy  meeting,  and  yet,  like  all  such  meet- 
ings, a  tinge  of  sadness  just  shadowed  the  bright  cur- 
rent of  feeling  that  swelled  in  the  heart  of  mother 
and  child.  More  particularly  was  this  to  be  observed 
in  the  wrecker's  wife,  in  whose  breast  the  bright  and 
dark  tide  seemed  equally  mingled.  "We  will  not  specu- 
late on  the  cause  of  this  strange  circumstance.  The 
sequel  of  our  story  may  reveal  it. 

The  wrecker  was  absent  on  a  cruise  at  the  time,  for 
Ellen's  visit  was  wholly  unexpected,  and  intended  as  a 
surprise;  but  he  was  hourly  expected  to  return.  You 
may  be  sure  that  the  Hawk's  Nest  and  Gull's  Head, 
the  bold  headlands  at  the  entrance  of  the  cove,  were 
visited  more  than  once  during  the  day  by  the  impa- 
tient girl.  She  was  always  accompanied  by  Caroline, 
who  felt  no  fatigue  in  climbing  over  the  rough  rocks, 
so  new  and  exciting  were  the  scenes  and  her  pursuits. 

Towards  night  the  little  schooner  was  discovered 
from  one  of  the  promontories,  on  which  the  new- 
comers had  taken  their  station  to  watch  her  approach. 
We  will  not  stop  to  portray  the  emotions  of  Miss 
Irving,  as  she  gazed  upon  the  magnificence  of  old 
Ocean,  never,  perhaps,  more  striking  than  at  that 
hour,  when  the  hues  of  the  declining  day  had  tipped 
it  with  a  glory  akin  to  that  which  flooded  the  western 
sky.  It  was  altogether  a  new  revelation  to  her,  and 
she  stood  spell-bound,  as  it  were,  with  the  splendid 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  93 

spectacle,  watching  the  changing  colors,  as  the  light 
faded  gradually  from  the  sea.  As  for  Ellen,  her 
thoughts  were  too  much  occupied  with  the  coming 
sail  to  take  much  notice  of  the  scene  that  fascinated 
her  companion. 

It  was  dark,  for  there  was  no  moon,  although  the 
stars  ient  their  feeble  hght,  ere  the  schooner  of  the 
WTCcker  entered  the  cove.  As  she  shot  into  the  deep 
shadow  of  the  cliif,  Ellen,  in  the  humble  garb  of  for- 
mer days,  might  have  been  seen  tripping  over  the 
rocks  to  the  landing,  bearing  a  lighted  torch.  While 
those  in  the  vessel  were  securing  her  for  the  night, 
Ellen  stood  on  a  projecting  ledge,  and  flared  the  light 
over  the  waters  in  such  a  manner  as  to  assist  the 
voyagers  without  revealing  her  own  person. 

"  Thank  'e,  wife,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  hearty 
tone,  as,  having  performed  the  necessary  duty,  he 
pushed  off  from  the  side  of  the  anchored  vessel  in  a 
little  yawl.  "  You  need  not  have  put  yourself  to  the 
trouble  of  coming  down,  Bess,  for  we  could  have  got 
along  very  well  without  a  light." 

"  Welcome  home,  father  I  "  exclaimed  Ellen,  as  the 
boat's  keel  grated  on  the  beach,  at  the  same  time 
waving  the  torch  so  that  its  light  should  flash  over 
her  person ;  "  welcome  back  !    What  luck  ?" 

"  Nell,  NeU  !  Am  I  dreaming  ?  Is  that  you  ?  As  I 
live,  it  is  the  dear  girl  herself !  Why,  where  did  you 
come  from  ?  how  came  you  here  ?  "  burst  in  rapid 
tones  from  the  lips  of  the  astonished  old  man,  as  he 
leaped  to  the  shore,  and  rushed  to  the  spot  where  she 
stood,  half-doubting  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses. 

Could  there  have  been  a  more  delightful  surprise,  a 
happier  meeting  than  that  between  the  wrecker  and 


94  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Lis  child?  Again  and  again  lie  folded  her  to  his 
heart,  with  all  the  warmth  of  paternal  love,  as  he 
questioned  her  of  her  unexpected  presence,  while  the 
dark  chfFs  resounded  again  and  again  with  the  loud 
cheer  of  welcome  which  burst  involuntarily,  as  it 
were,  from  the  lips  of  the  hardy  crew  gathered  on  the 
beach,  who  seemed  as  much  astonished  and  overjoyed 
as  the  old  man  himself  at  the  return  of  their  favorite. 
It  was  the  tribute  of  rough  and  honest  hearts,  stand- 
ing on  no  idle  and  formal  ceremony,  and  Ellen  received 
with  deep  emotions  their  boisterous  demonstrations 
of  joy  and  good  will. 

Never  was  there  a  happier  assemblage  under  one 
roof  than  that  which  gathered  beneath  the  wrecker's 
that  night.  Until  a  late  hour  they  all  sat  in  conversa- 
tion, the  old  man  full  of  spirits,  declaring  time  and 
again  that  he  felt  as  if  a  score  of  years  had  been 
rubbed  out  of  his  life ;  while  his  wife  gazed  with  an 
earnestness  of  affection  on  the  countenance  of  Ellen, 
which  fully  evinced  that,  if  her  emotions  were  not  so 
buoyant  and  cheerful  as  her  partner's,  her  happiness 
was  equally  as  great.  Caroline  and  Edward  partici- 
pated as  fully  as  any  in  the  joyful  greeting,  while 
their  sympathies  were  tenderly  excited  as  they  wit- 
nessed the  touching  and  unaffected  manifestations  of 
love  bestowed  upon  one  so  dear  to  their  hearts. 

"Observe  her,"  said  Edward  in  an  under-tone  to  his 
sister,  his  eyes  beaming  with  affection:  "  'twas  in  that 
plain  attire  I  first  knew  her  and  loved  her.  Do  you 
wonder  at  it  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  how  could  you  do  otherwise  ?  Dear 
Ellen,  you  are  an  angel ! "  and  the  warm-hearted  girl 
stepped  forward  and  impressed  an  affectionate  kiss  on 
the  lips  of  her  surprised  sister. 


95 


CHAPTER    IV. 

I  had  so  fixed  my  heart  upon  her, 
That,  wheresoe'er  I  formed  a  scheme  of  lifo 
For  time  to  come,  she  was  my  only  joy, 
With  which  I  used  to  sweeten  future  cares. 

Otwat. 

A  FORTNIGHT,  the  period  allotted  for  the  stay  of  the 
visitors,  passed  most  happily.  Every  day  they  strolled 
over  the  jagged  rocks,  exploring  the  deep  chasms 
hollowed  out  by  the  constant  beating  of  the  waves, 
and  gazing  upon  the  frowning  cliffs,  some  of  them 
toppling  to  their  fall,  the  wash  of  the  sea  having  worn 
away  their  bases,  opening  here  and  there,  to  their  "^jery 
hearts,  deep  recesses  and  dark  caverns,  into  which  the 
surges  rushed  with  a  dismal  booming  sound,  gurgling 
along  unseen  passages,  and  returning  in  rills  of  spark- 
ling, milk-white  foam ;  or  they  would 

*♦  Stand  on  some  high  beetling  rock. 
Or  dusky  brow  of  savage  promontory, 
Watching  the  waves,  with  all  their  white  crests  dancing. 
Come,  like  thick-plumed  squadrons,  to  the  shore. 
Gallantly  bounding,"  — 

sights  and  sounds  which  never  sated  the  eye  or  palled 
on  the  ear,  and  which  thrilled  the  enthusiastic  heart 
of  Caroline  with  emotions  to  which,  ere  this,  it  had 
ever  been  a  stranger.  Frequently  they  were  accom- 
panied by  the  wrecker,  who  detailed  to  them,  as  they 
sat  on  some  bold  height  which  overlooked  the  ocean, 
some  old  legend  of  the  sea,  some  tale  of  shipwreck 
and  peril,  or  some  stirring  adventure  in  which  he  had 
taken  part  during  a  long  and  eventful  life. 


96  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Another  week,  and  at  last  a  month,  had  nearly  ex- 
pired, ere  they  took  their  leave,  and  then  with  feehngs 
of  regret  they  tore  themselves  away  from  a  spot 
which,  despite  its  barrenness,  had  charms  for  them  all, 
and  which  was  endeared  to  Ellen  by  considerations 
already  sufficiently  explained. 

The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  they  left,  the 
wrecker  and  his  wife  sat  alone  by  the  door  of  their 
hut,  the  former  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  time-colored 
pipe ;  but  an  occasional  sigh  from  the  latter  seemed 
to  indicate  a  heart  ill  at  ease. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  Bess  !  "  said  the  old  man,  placing 
his  hand  affectionately  on  her  shoulder.  "  Life  is  made 
up  of  partings.  The  dear  girl  is  happy :  what  more 
can*we  ask  ?  A  noble  fellow  is  that  husband  of  hers, 
a  worthy  fellow ;  and  a  fine  girl,  too,  is  that  sister  of 
his.  And  then  to  see  how  Nell  and  she  take  to  each 
other ! " 

^^  It  is  not  the  parting,  John,  that  saddens  me,"  said 
the  wife,  in  a  subdued  tone ;  "  my  thoughts  were  on 
something  else.  Do  you  remember  that  it  is  just 
twenty-two  years  this  day  since  the  lost  one  was 
restored  to  us?'' 

"  Twenty-two  years  I  No,  no,  Bess ;  you  're  mis- 
taken," rejoined  the  wrecker,  taking  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth  and  gazing  into  his  wife's  face  with  an  expres- 
sion of  doubt. 

"  Twenty-two  years  this  blessed  day,  husband." 

"  It  can't  be,"  rephed  the  old  man.  "  Let  me  see," 
he  added,"  it  was  in  the  year  IT — ,"  and  with  the  stem 
of  his  pipe  he  touched  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  his 
left  hand  to  assist  him  in  counting  the  years  from  that 
date.      "  I  would  n't  have    beheved   it ;    twenty-two 


'Liii:    WREriCElfs    DAUGHTER.  97 

years  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  concluded 
his  reckoning.     ^^  How  the  time  slips  away  !  '^ 

"Am  I  right,  John?'' 

"It  can't  be  otherwise;  it  mnst  be  so.  But  what 
of  that,  Bess  ?  are  you  sad  that  we  are  growing  old 
and  gray  ?  " 

"  0  no,  that  is  not  it,  husband.  It  would  be  a  sin 
to  repine  when  He  has  crowned  all  our  days  with 
goodness.  No,  John;  but  I  was  thinking,  as  we  shall 
soon  be  called  away,  and  as  she  has  got  to  be  a  fine 
lady,  it  is  our  duty  to  tell  the  dear  girl  the  truth  con- 
cerning her  parentage.^' 

The  wife  paused  and  looked  toward  her  husband  as 
if  waiting  his  reply.  But  he  was  silent.  With  an 
abstracted  air  he  sat  gazing  on  the  ground,  as  if 
revolving  some  unpleasant  thought  in  his  mind.  The 
proposition  suggested  by  his  wife  had  of  late  often 
occurred  to  him,  and  engaged  much  of  his  thoughts. 
From  the  manner  of  both  it  was  evidently  not  one  of 
a  very  pleasing  nature,  for  its  consideration  threw  a 
shade  of  gloom  over  them. 

"  I  don't  know  but  that  you  're  right,  wife,"  at  length 
the  old  man  said.  "  I  have  thought  over  this  matter 
much  of  late,  and  it  has  troubled  me  not  a  little. 
Thinks  I,  coming  home  on  my  very  last  cruise,  I  will 
talk  the  subject  over  with  Bess,  and  get  her  opinion 
on  it.  I  hate  to  do  it,  —  not  that  I  think  it  will 
alter  Nell's  feelings  toward  us,  that  is,  in  the  way 
of  loving  us ;  but  it  will  seem  like  breaking  a  natural 
tie." 

"  Yes,  John,  I  feel  it  will  be  as  you  say.  The  little 
one  that  was  so  early  taken  from  us  appeared  gifen 
back  again  when  she  came,  and  the  love  which  would 

d 


9S  '      FOREST   AND  SHORE. 

have  been  buried  in  the  grave  with  the  lost,  revived 
anew  in  the  poor  foundling.  I  am  sure  I  yearn  over 
that  dear  girl  as  much  as  if  my  own  blood  ran  in  her 
veins." 

A  tear  glistened  in  the  eye  of  the  speaker  which  she 
did  not  attempt  to  conceal. 

"  And  well  may  we  love  her,"  added  the  old  man. 
"  Has  she  not  been  ever  as  a  child  to  us  ?  In  sickness 
and  health,  in  infancy  and  youth,  we  watched  over  and 
cared  for  her,  —  and  what  more  could  we  do  for  our 
own  flesh  and  blood?" 

"  Yes,  thank  Heaven,  we  have  not  neglected  our 
duty  to  her ;  and  there  is  comfort  in  that.  And,  though 
Nell's  feelings  may  be  changed  when  we  tell  her  she 
is  not  our  own  child,  I  know  her  affectionate  heart  too 
well  to  fear  that  her  love  will  be  weakened." 

"  I  had  some  idea  of  making  it  known  to  young 
Irving  during  his  visit,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a  brief 
silence ;  "  but  I  concluded  it  was  best  to  wait  until 
they  left,  and  talk  it  over  with  you  first." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did,  John,  for  the  parting  would 
have  been  doubly  painful  had  she  gone  away  know- 
ing that  we  had  no  natural  claims  on  her ;  and  yet 
I  should  like  to  be  near  her  when  she  is  told,  and 
hear  from  her  own  lips  that  she  loves  us  none  the 
less.  Would  to  God,  if  the  desire  be  not  sinful,  that 
she  wore  our  own  !  " 

LTntil  a  late  hour  the  wrecker  and  his  wife  sat  by 
the  door,  conversing  on  the  subject.  How  to  convey 
the  information  to  Ellen  was  a  point  long  discussed. 
A  letter  might  serve  the  purpose,  but  the  old  man 
was  averse  to  this  channel  of  communication,  for  he 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  9'9 

felt  that  he  could  not  enter  so  fully  into  the  details  in 
writing  as  he  wished. 

"  No,  no,  wife  ,•  she  shall  have  it  from  my  own  lips, 
and  every  circumstance  connected  with  the  event  that 
threw  her  upon  our  care.  And  moreover,  Bess,  as 
you  have  always  been  confined  to  this  barren  spot, — 
-not  but  that  the  place  is  pleasant  enough,  as  how  can 
it  help  being,  with  the  great  sea  forever  rolling  before 
us  in  all  its  majesty  and  vastness?  —  and  have  never 
been  where  the  earth  is  covered  by  the  green  grass 
like  a  carpet,  and  the  tall  trees  wave  and  rustle  in 
the  breeze,  ^nd  beautiful  birds  build  their  nests  and 
make  music  in  the  branches,  and  bright  flowers  spring 
up  everywhere  and  fill  the  air  with  a  sweet  perfume, 
just  as  the  easterly  wind  brings  in  the  scent  of  the 
sea ;  now,  Bess,  you  shall  go  with  me  and  visit  Nell 
and  her  husband,  and  behold  some  of  these  wonders 
wherewith  God  has  blessed  this  world  of  ours.  We 
will  accept  their  invitation,  and  when  we  are  with  them 
I  will  make  known  the  story." 

This  point  settled,  the  honest  old  couple  retired 
to  rest,  with  minds  somewhat  relieved,  now  that  they 
had  come  to  a  determination  on  a  subject  which  had 
burdened  their  minds  for  a  long  time. 


.00  FOREST   AXD   SHORE. 


CHAPTER    V 


With  wild  surprise, 
As  if  to  marble  struck,  devoid  of  sense, 
A  stupid  moment  motionless  she  stood. 

Milton. 

A  FEW  months  after  Ellen's  return  she  was  sur- 
prised, and  not  less  surprised  than  delighted,  by  the 
arrival  of  the  wrecker  and  his  wife  at  her  new  home. 
Their  coming  was  altogether  unexpected,  for  they  had 
given  no  intimation  of  paying  her  a  visit.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  say  how  joyfully  they  were  welcomed, 
and  by  no  one  more  warmly  than  by  the  widow  Irving, 
whose  opinion  of  the  wrecker,  the  half-pirate  as  she 
once  stigmatized  him,  had  undergone  a  wonderful 
change  since  his  daughter  had  become  a  member  of 
her  family.  Rough  and  unrefined  as  he  was,  there 
was  something  in  the  blunt  old  sailor  which  won  for 
him  the  good  opinion  of  all,  and  more  particularly  of 
the  aristocratic  widow.  She  saw  in  him  none  of  those 
vulgar  traits  which  she  had  thought  were  inseparable 
from  poverty  and  humble  birth. 

The  meek  and  retiring  character  of  the  wrecker^s 
wife  was  altogether  different,  too,  from  the  picture  she 
had  formed  of  one  bred  in  obscurity.  She  now  saw 
that  there  was  not  such  a  vast  difference  in  the  moral 
and  mental  qualities  of  those  born  in  the  upper  and 
lower  classes  of  society  as  she  had  been  taught  to  be- 
lieve ;  that  kind  hearts  and  gentle  affections,  and  ster- 
ling if  not  as  polished  minds,  were  to  be  found  clothed 
in  the  humble  garb  of  the  poor  as  in  the  costly  "  pur- 
ple and  fine  linen ''  of  those  born  to  wealth.     In  fact, 


THE   WRECKER'S   DAUGHTER.  101 

the  high  notions  of  the  lady  were  levelled  to  quite  a 
reasonable  and  proper  standard,  and  the  sharp  points 
of  her  character  had  become  rounded  and  moulded 
astonishingly.  After  all,  we  are  inclined  to  believe 
that  the  pride  and  hauteur  exhibited  by  many  should 
be  ascribed  more  to  an  ignorance  of  human  nature 
than  to  a  want  of  sympathy,  to  a  defect  in  the  judg- 
ment rather  than  an  o))hquity  of  the  heart. 

Intent  on  making  known  the  errand  which  mduced 
his  visit,  the  wrecker  sought  the  first  opportunity  that 
offered  to  divulge  it.  He  first  made  Ellen  and  her 
husband  briefly  acquainted  with  the  facts.  The  del- 
icate and  to  him  painful  task  was  not  accompHshed 
without  exciting  strong  emotions  both  in  the  speaker 
and  his  astonished  hearers.  Ellen  listened  as  one  in  a 
dream,  scarcely  crediting  her  own  senses.  Her  bosom 
was  agitated  with  feelings  it  would  be  difficult  to  por- 
tray. A  biiter,  dreary  sense  of  loneliness,  a  sadness 
and  sickness  of  heart,  a  dull,  desponding  weight,  op- 
pressed her  spirits.  She  gazed  into  the  face  of  her 
whom  she  knew  only  as  a  mother,  as  if  seeking  there 
for  a  detiial  of  what  she  had  heard.  The  earnest, 
affectionate,  tearful  look  that  met  hers,  though  it 
confirmed  the  dark  story,  siirred  the  dead  calm  set- 
tling like  a  poisonous  mist  on  her  heart;  the  fountain 
of  feeling  gave  way ;  and,  rushing  toward  the  wife  of 
the  wrecker,  she  fell  into  her  waiting  embrace,  ex- 
claiming, with  a  tear-choked  voice,  — 

"  Be  still  a  mother  to  me  !  Do  not  cast  me  off!  Let 
me  be  as  ever  your  child,  let  me  love  you  as  ever,  let 
me  still  share  your  love  !  " 

The  scene  can  be  better  imagined  by  the  reader  than 
described  by  the  writer.  It  was  one  calculated  to 
9* 


102  FOREST    AND   SHORE. 

touch  the  heart's  deepest  fount,  calling  up  its  tender- 
est  emotions.  It  served,  too,  to  remove  any  half- 
formed  doubts  in  the  minds  of  the  old  man  and  his 
wife  in  regard  to  Ellen's  unchanging  affection  towards 
them. 

After  the  agitation  growing  out  of  the  unexpected 
development  was  over,  it  was  proposed  that  the 
wrecker  should  relate  in  detail  the  facts  connected 
with  Ellen's  history  to  the  family.  Mrs.  Randolph  was 
invited  to  be  present  on  the  occasion,  and  after  the 
evening  lamps  were  lighted,  the  company  assembled, 
eager  to  hear  the  full  relation  of  that  of  which  they 
had  as  yet  received  but  a  vague  hint. 

It  would  have  formed  an  interesting  and  touching 
picture,  that  little  circle,  grouped  around  the  old  man, 
and  listening  eagerly  to  the  words  that  fell  from  his 
lips.  The  most  striking  figure  in  the  group  was 
Ellen,  who,  with  a  tearful  eye  and  a  pale,  sad  counte- 
nance, sat  by  the  side  of  her  whom  she  had  always 
looked  upon  as  her  mother,  holding  one  of  her  hands 
within  her  own  and  half-leaning  on  her  shoulder,  as 
she  listened  with  a  throbbing  heart'  to  the  story  in 
which  she  was  so  much  interested.  The  earnest  in- 
tensity of  the  glance  which  Mrs.  Randolph  riveted  on 
the  speaker,  as  she  sat  motionless  and  statue-Hke 
nearly  in  front  of  him,  would  at  once  have  attracted 
the  notice  of  a  casual  observer.  A  hardly  less  strong 
expression  of  interest  was  observed  on  the  counte- 
nances of  the  rest  of  the  listeners.  The  details  as 
given  by  the  old  man  were  as  follows : 

"  It  is  more  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  that  dear  girl," 
said  the  wrecker,  glancing  as  he  spoke  affectionately 
at  the  object  of  his  remark,  "  than  any  promptings  of 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  103 

my  own  inclina'Jf.ns,  tliat  I  am  impelled  to  make  the 
statement  I  am  now  about  to  offer.  Were  it  not  in 
the  hope  that  she  may  under  Providence  be  benefited 
by  it;  I  know  not  but  that  I  should  have  carried  the 
secret  relating  to  her  parentage  with  me  to  the  grave. 
We  have  always  regarded  her  as  our  own  from  the 
moment  we  received  her  in  charge  from  her  dying 
mother ;  and  sure  I  am,  we  could  not  have  loved  her 
more  if  she  had  our  own  blood  in  her  veins.  She 
came  to  us  indeed  like  a  messenger  from  heaven,  at  a 
time  when  Ave  w^ere  bowed  down  with  a  sore  disap- 
pointment, and  it  seems  now  like  rending  asunder  a 
tie  of  nature  to  declare  that  she  is  not  our  own,  that 
we  have  no  parental  claims  on  her.  But  it  must  be 
done. 

'^  Some  years  ago  I  was  returning  in  my  smack  from 
a  cruise  along  the  coast,  and  had  arrived  within  a  day^s 
sail  of  the  cove,  when  I  was  providentially  placed  in 
the  way  of  rescuing  two  of  my  fellow-creatures  from 
a  drowning  death,  one  of  wdiom  is  now  present.  For 
two  or  three  days  previous  to  this  event  the  w^eather 
had  been  rough,  and  the  day  before  quite  a  strong  gale 
had  raged.  The  day  had  just  broke  on  the  morning 
in  question,  but  the  weather  was  so  thick  that  the 
light  came  slowly,  when  I  found  myself  running  close 
aboard  of  a  wreck.  I  knew  not  at  first  w'hat  kind  of 
a  craft  it  was,  for  I  could  perceive  only  the  atump  of 
one  mast  standing.  As  I  bore  up  for  the  wreck,  how- 
ever, I  soon  discovered  that  it  w^as  a  ship.  How  she 
came  to  be  in  such  a  disabled  condition  I  could  not 
imagine,  for,  though  the  storm  had  been  pretty  tough, 
yet  it  had  not  been  so  violent,  at  least  where  I  was, 
but  that  a  ship  could  make  very  good  weather  in  it. 


104  FOREST   AJ^D   SSORE. 

"  The  waves  ran  so  liigli  at  the  time  it  would  have 
^een  dangerous  to  attempt  to  board  her ;  but,  as  the 
wind  had  hauled  off  shore  and  the  sea  was  fast  going 
down,  I  determined  to  lay  by  her.  Anxious  to  learn 
if  any  one  was  on  board,  I  ran  close  under  her  lee  and 
hailed  her.  It  was  then  I  discovered  that  she  had  set- 
tled considerably  by  the  head,  and  that  she  was  liable 
at  any  moment  to  go  down.  From  the  shattered  state 
of  her  bows  I  was  at  once  convinced  of  the  cause  of 
her  disaster.  She  had  evidently  been  run  into,  and 
that,  too,  very  recently.  No  notice  being  taken  of  my 
first  hail,  I  repeated  it,  when  I  saw  a  woman  spring 
up  on  the  quarter-deck.  At  first  she  did  not  perceive 
us,  but  gazed  wildly  around  for  a  moment  to  the  wind- 
ward. She  soon  changed  her  position  and  caught 
sight  of  us,  and,  as  she  did  so,  she  stretched  her  arms 
towards  us  in  an  appealing  attitude,  uttering  at  the 
same  time  a  gibberish  sort  of  cry.  A  moment  after- 
ward she  staggered  to  the  side  of  the  vessel  and 
stooped  down.  When  she  again  raised  herself,  we 
observed  she  had  something  in  her  arms  that  appeared 
like  a  child  closely  wrapped  up,  which  she  held  in  a 
beseeching  manner  towards  us,  all  the  time  uttering 
the  same  incoherent  cry. 

"  It  was  a  sad  sight^  ladies,  in  that  uncertain  light, 
to  behold  the  poor  thing  on  that  lone  wreck,  her 
clothes,  heavy  with  wet,  clinging  closely  to  her  form, 
and  her  loose  hair  streaming  in  tangled  masses  to  the 
wind.  We  immediately  shouted  to  her  to  be  of  good 
cheer,  and  that  we  would  soon  take  her  off.  But  the 
poor  creature  appeared  bewildered,  and  evidently  did 
not  understand  us,  for,  as  our  craft  ranged  ahead,  she 
ran  t-hrieking  with  her  burden  to  the  fore  part  of  the 


THE  wrecker's  DAUGHTER.  105 

ship,  stumbling  over  the  broken  spars  and  rigging 
that  lumbered  the  decks,  holding  out  her  arms  to  us 
all  the  while  as  if  praying  for  succor.  My  heart  ached 
as  I  gazed  on  the  piteous  object,  and  I  resolved  to 
attempt  her  rescue  at  once,  although  I  knew  it  would 
be  at  the  risk  of  life. 

a  ^^Q  gQi  Q^j.  i^Q^t  Q^i^  however,  as  soon  as  circum- 
stances would  permit,  and  with  four  oarsmen  pulled 
away  for  the  wreck.  We  reached  her  with  great  ex- 
ertion, although  we  were  once  or  twice  in  great 
danger  of  being  swamped.  Nothing  would  have  saved 
us  in  that  event,  for  we  left  the  schooner  short-handed, 
and  could  have  received  no  assistance  from  the  crew 
on  board.  But  at  last,  through  God's  mercy,  we 
reached  the  ship,  and  succeeded,  after  many  efforts,  in 
making  fast  to  her.  It  then  became  necessary  to  use 
the  utmost  caution  in  taking  off  the  woman  and  child, 
for,  as  the  ship  rolled  and  plunged  in  the  surges,  we 
were  every  moment  in  imminent  danger.  The  woman, 
fortunately,  instead  of  being  a  hindrance,  seemed  en- 
dowed with  an  energy  almost  superhuman,  and  greatly 
assisted  us  in  our  hazardous  task.  After  repeated 
failures  in  our  attempts,  we  at  last  succeeded  in  get- 
ting the  sufferers  into  the  boat,  and  ere  long  in  placing 
them  safely  on  the  deck  of  our  own  vessel.  We  took 
them  off  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for  we  had  barely 
got  on  board  the  schooner  when  the  ship  began  to 
settle  fast,  and  presently,  giving  a  lee  lurch,  she  w^ent 
down  bow  first.  Ah, ladies!  it  was  a  dismal  sight,  that 
sinking  ship  going  down  amid  the  raging  billows,  the 
heavens  hanging  in  blackness  like  a  pall  above  her, 
and  the  sea  whirling  and  foaming  around  her  as  if 
rejoicing  over  its  prey." 


106  ^  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Here  the  old  man  paused  awhile  in  his  narration,  as 
if  dwelhng  on  the  sad  spectacle  he  had  been  de- 
scribing, while  the  sighs  and  long-drawn  breaths  of 
his  audience  testified  the  interest  they  felt  in  his 
description. 


CHAPTER   YI. 

She  gazed  on  us  with  fixed  and  anxious  air,  — 
That  look  consigned  her  infant  to  our  care  : 
We  read  the  sign  and  quick  assent  implied  ; 
She  smiled,  then  turned  her  face  away,  and  died. 

'T  is  she  !  't  is  she  !  the  lost  —  the  mourned  —  my  daughter  ! 

Old  Play. 

"  But  I  had  no  time,"  continued  the  old  man,  after  a 
brief  silence,  "  to  indulge  in  the  feelings  such  a  scene 
would  naturally  call  forth,  for  my  attention  was  imme- 
diately diverted  to  the  case  of  the  survivors,  who 
demanded  all  my  care.  Soon  after  reaching  my  ves- 
sel, the  strength  and  energy  of  the  mother,  which  she 
had  displayed  so  conspicuously  in  the  moment  of 
peril,  forsook  her  entirely.  Every  nerve  became 
relaxed,  her  spirits  seemed  completely  prostrated,  and 
she  became  as  weak  and  helpless  almost  as  the  child 
in  her  arms.  On  questioning  her  concerning  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  disaster,  we  found  that  her  mind  was 
all  afloat,  and  we  could  get  nothing  from  her  but  the 
most  incoherent  answers.  Poor  crazed  thing !  All 
her  thoughts  seemed  to  centre  on  her  child,  which  she 
had  contrived  to  protect  from  the  weather  in  a  won- 
derfal  manner.  We  could  hardly  persuade  her  to 
trust  it  for  a  moment  in  our  care,  and  she  was  restless 


THE   wrecker's   DAUGHTER.  107 

a  ad  uneasy  until  it  was  restored  to  her.  It  was  a 
touching  sight,  ladies,  to  witness  the  endearments 
heaped  by  the  wretched  sufferer  on  her  child ;  her 
heart  still  strong  and  gushing  with  affection,  though 
her  mind  was  all  wreck  and  disorder.  But  she  soon 
sunk  into  a  state  of  imbecility,  uttering  only  an  occa- 
sional wandering  word.  I  saw  that  she  was  failing 
rapidly,  and  was  fearful  she  would  not  hold  out  until 
w^e  reached  our  station.  Having  a  pretty  fair  wind, 
however,  w^e  arrived  at  the  cove  just  before  nightfall, 
and  succeeded  in  getting  the  unfortunates  safely  and 
comfortably  housed. 

"  Every  exertion  that  our  limited  means  permitted 
w^as  put  forth  in  behalf  of  the  poor  suffering  woman ; 
but  all  our  care  w^as  unavailing.  Fright  and  exposure 
had  prostrated  both  mind  and  body.  She  lingered  for 
a  day  or  two  in  a  sort  of  lethargy,  then  died.  A 
short  time  before  she  drew  her  last  breath,  she  ap- 
peared to  revive  a  little,  and  made  signs  as  if  she  had 
something  to  communicate ;  but  when  she  attempted 
to  speak  her  tongue  refused  its  office,  and  she  only 
uttered  a  feeble,  moan-like  whisper.  Thinking  she 
might  wish  to  behold  the  child,  wife  took  it  from  its 
little  couch,  where  it  was  slumbering,  and  carried  it 
to  her  bedside.  Her  eye  lighted  up  at  once  on  see- 
ing it,  an  expression  of  satisfaction  shot  over  her  face, 
and  she  made  an  attempt  as  though  she  would  em- 
brace it.  But  her  strength  was  not  sufficient  for  the 
task,  and  she  sank  back  on  her  pillow,  gazing  wist- 
fully first  into  the  infant's  face  and  then  casting  a 
meaning  glance  on  my  wife,  as  if  she  by  that  look 
consigned  the  little  one  to  her  care.  My  wife  an- 
swered the  silent  appeal  by  pressing  the  child  to  her 


103  FOREST    AND    JsUORK. 

bosom.  The  dying  one  seemed  to  understand  her,  for 
a  faint  smile  played  over  her  countenance.  It  was 
the  last  gleam  of  expiring  nature,  for  immediately  a 
slight  tremor  shook  her  frame,  she  turned  her  face  a 
little  from  us,  gave  one  gasp,  and  her  troubled  spirit 
was  at  rest." 

The  sobs  of  Ellen  here  interrupted  the  narrative 
of  the  old  man.  "  My  poor  mother ! "  was  all  she 
could  articulate,  as  she  leaned  her  head  on  the  shoul- 
der of  the  wrecker's  wife,  and  gave  way  to  the  feel- 
ings which  agitated  her  breast.  The  sympathizing 
tear  glistened  in  the  eyes  of  each  of  the  group  as 
they  witnessed  the  emotions  of  the  sorrow-stricken 
girl.  It  is  true,  she  had  never  known  that  mother 
whom  she  mourned ;  yet  the  relation  of  her  foster- 
father,  showing  forth  as  it  did  the  strong  love  of  that 
mother,  triumphing  even  over  the  wreck  of  mind,  and 
sending  the  last  glow  of  warmth  through  the  death- 
chiUed  veins,  breathing  out,  as  it  were,  in  the  last 
gasping  sigh,  touched  the  deepest  and  tenderest  chord 
in  her  heart;  while  a  contemplation  of  the  extreme 
suffering  she  must  have  endured  on  the  wreck,  —  suf- 
fering so  great  as  to  induce  frenzy,  —  and  her  affect- 
ing death,  awoke  the  most  poignant  grief  After  a 
brief  silence,  the  wrecker  proceeded  with  his  narra- 
tive in  an  unsteady  voice. 

"  Yes,  Ellen,  it  was  thus  she  died ;  happy,  I  believe, 
in  the  consciousness  that  her  child  had  found  a  pro- 
tector. And  warmly  did  we  welcome  the  little  stranger 
thus  providentially  thrown  on  our  care.  But  a  short 
month  before  we  had  consigned  to  the  grave  the  only 
child  with  which  God  had  blessed  us.  We  were  child- 
les€  and  Borrowing,  but  when  you  came  we  felt  that 


THE   WRECKEK'S   DAUGHTER.  109 

our  lost  one  had  again  been  restored  to  us.  Your 
ages  must  have  been  nearly  alike,  and  we  bestowed 
on  you  the  name  borne  by  our  own  child.  Your 
lively  prattle  soon  chased  the  gloom  from  our  dwell- 
ing, and  we  forgot  our  bereavement.  We  made 
many  inquiries  to  find  out  something  respecting  the 
lost  ship ;  but  we  lived  in  a  remote  place,  and  the 
means  for  the  transmis.sion  of  news  were  not  so  abun- 
dant as  at  the  present  day,  and  all  our  endeavors  were 
fruitless.  We  were  content  with  the  result,  for  our 
hearts  yearned  towards  you  with  all  a  parent's  love ; 
and,  as  years  passed  by,  and  you  grew  dearer  to  our 
hearts,  we  ceased  to  think  of  you  as  other  than  our 
own,  and  such  we  shall  always  consider  you,  in  what- 
ever circumstances  you  may  be  placed,  so  long  as 
Heaven  shall  spare  our  lives." 

"  You  did  not  ascertain  the  name  of  the  ship  ?  "  said 
Edward,  as  the  old  man  paused  at  the  conclusion  of 
his  narrative. 

''  It  would  have  been  a  difficult  thing  as  we  were 
then  situated,  although  I  might  possibly  have  done  so. 
But,  in  the  hurry  and  excitement  of  getting  off  the 
woman  and  child,  we  had  no  thought  for  anything 
else  ;  and  by  the  time  we  had  rescued  them  the  ship 
had  settled  so  that  any  attempt  to  ascertain  it  would 
have  been  fruitless." 

"  Can  you  give  no  description  of  the  ship  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Randolph,  who  had  listened  to  the  recital  of  the 
wrecker  with  an  intensity  of  feeling  which  could  not 
have  failed  of  exciting  the 'notice  of  the  company  had 
not  their  attention  been  wholly  absorbed  in  the  story 
of  the  old  man.  The  tremulous  and  earnest  tone  in 
which  the  question  was  put  attracted  immediately  the 
10 


110  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

observation  of  the  whole  party,  while  the  interest  of 
those  who  were  acquainted  with  her  sad  history  was 
awakened  at  once  to  the  highest  pitch.  Ellen  raised 
her  head  involuntarily  from  the  shoulder  of  her  foster- 
mother,  and  gazed  anxiously  in  the  face  of  the  wrecker, 
breathlessly  awaiting  his  answer. 

"  Let  me  see/'  said  the  old  man,  rubbing  his  arm 
thoughtfully  across  his  brow.  "  I  think  I  can,  ma'am, 
for  I  took  particular  notice  of  her  before  she  went 
down.  If  my  memory  don't  deceive  me,  she  was 
painted  black,  with  a  white  streak  and  white  mould- 
ings ;  I  believe  she  had  a  small  round-house  on  deck, 
and  —  yes,  I  am  sure — a  large  gilt  figure-head." 

"  Tell  me,  sir,"  continued  Mrs.  R.,  still  more  agitated, 
"  the  date  —  the  year." 

"  It  was  in  the  year  17 — ,  early  in  the  fall  —  the  18th 
of  September,  ma'am ;  I  know  that  well,  for  we  always 
dated  Nell's  birthday  from  that  time." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph,  rising  from  her 
seat  and  approaching  the  wrecker,  her  face  betraying 
excessive  emotion.  "I  have  a  reason,  a  most  im- 
portant motive  for  the  question.  Did  you  preserve 
the  articles  of  dress  found  on  the  child  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  answered  the  old  man,  won- 
dering at  the  question  and  the  agitation  of  the  speaker. 

"  Where,  where  are  they  now  ?  " 

"  I  brought  them  with  me  ;  they  are  in  my  trunk," 
was  the  reply. 

"Bring  them  here  —  let  me  see  them.  0  God,  if  it 
should  be  so  ! "  and  the  widow  sank  on  the  sofa  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  wrecker's  wife 
left  the  room  for  the  articles. 

Each  individual  arose,  as  she  re-entered  the  parlor 


THE   wrecker's    DAUGHTER.  HI 

with  a  small  bundle,  except  Mrs.  Handolph,  who  con- 
tinued her  position  unaltered.  A  silence  as  of  death 
pervaded  the  room  as  the  wife  of  the  wrecker  unrolled 
the  small  bundle  and  placed  a  little  frock,  cap,  and 
other  articles  of  an  infant's  dress,  on  the  centre-table. 
Mrs.  Randolph  did  not  look  up.  She  seemed  to  shrink 
from  a  sight  of  that  which  was  to  confirm  her  suddenly- 
raised  hopes  or  dash  them  to  the  earth.  The  rest  of 
the  company  gazed  on  the  clothing  in  silence,  each 
countenance  expressing  the  most  intense  interest, 
excepting  Ellen's,  who  leaned  on  her  husband's  arm, 
with  a  face  pale  as  marble ;  and  yet,  could  her  heart 
have  been  laid  bare  at  that  moment,  what  a  world  of 
contending  emotions  would  have  been  there  discov- 
ered! 

"  They  are  here,  Julia,'^  said  Mrs.  Irving,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  she  stepped  to  the  side  of  her  friend  and 
touched  her  arm. 

Mrs.  Randolph  arose.  Her  face  was  blanched  and 
colorless,  and  her  trembling  limbs  barely  supported 
her  as  she  staggered  rather  than  walked  toward  the 
table.  One  searching  glance  was  cast  on  the  dress  : 
it  sufficed.  A  glow  of  ecstatic  feeling  lit  up  her  face, 
and,  with  a  wild  exclamation,  —  ^' 0  God!  they  are 
hers ;  they  are  hers !  My  child,  my  long-lost  daugh- 
ter ! "  —  she  rushed  toward  Ellen,  and  mother  and 
child,  the  lost  and  the  mourned,  were  clasped  in  a 
convulsive  embrace.  The  sobs  and  tears  of  the  sur- 
rounding group  burst  forth  unrestrainedly  and  height- 
ened the  affecting  scene,  over  a  further  exhibition  of 
which  we  must  be  permitted  to  draw  a  veil. 

The  interest  of  our  story  is  over.  Why  need  w© 
attempt   to    portray    the    unbounded    happiness    of 


112  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

mother  and  child  so  long  separated,  so  deeply  mourned, 
60  strangely  and  unexpectedly  united?  Why  describe 
the  felicity  of  that  little  circle,  now  knit  by  ties  if 
possible  a  thousand-fold  more  endearing  than  ever? 
Why  speak  of  the  delight  of  the  humble  wrecker  and 
his  wife,  on  whom  were  lavished,  every  endearment 
which  love  and  gratitude  could  prompt?  It  is  only 
necessary  to  say  that  the  Irvings  and  Mrs.  Randolph 
would  not  listen  to  the  return  of  the  honest  couple  to 
their  former  home,  but  urged  and  finally  prevailed  on 
them  to  spend  the  remainder  of  their  days  on  the 
estate  of  the  now  happy  Mrs.  Randolph,  where,  in  a 
neat  little  cottage  built  expressly  for  them,  they  lived 
in  the  enjoyment  of  every  comfort  that  life  could 
afford.  Hardly  a  day  passed  that  their  aged  hearts 
were  not  made  glad  by  the  presence  of  Ellen  and  her 
husband ;  nor  did  many  years  elapse  ere  first  a  little 
boy  and  then  a  little  girl  might  be  seen  playing  around 
their  door  and  hailing  them  by  the  grateful  appellation 
of  "  grandfather  "  and  "  grandmother,"  in  the  counte- 
nance of  each  of  whom  might  be  seen  a  striking 
resemblance  to  their  loved  and  idolized  "Nell," — for 
only  by  that  name  did  they  call  the  happy  wife  and 
mother. 

We  will  only  add,  in  conclusion,  that  the  memory 
of  the  faithful  nurse,  whose  tender  care  of  Ellen  amidst 
the  horrors  that  surrounded  her,  and  whose  love,  so 
strongly  manifested  in  her  dying  hour,  we  have  por- 
trayed, was  duly  cherished,  as  the  marble  shaft,  on 
which  are  recorded  her  virtues  and  sufferings,  plainly 
testifies. 


THE     SCOUT 


CHAPTER    I. 

A  CENTURY  has  rolled  away  since  the  events  we  are 
about  to  record  transpired.  A  century  1  Brief  period 
in  the  annals  of  history,  passed  over,  perhaps,  with 
the  dash  of  a  pen ;  and  yet  in  that  time  what  wonder- 
ful revolutions  have  been  wrought,  revolutions  in 
manners,  customs,  and  every  outward  condition  of 
life  !  One  hundred  years  ago  the  red  man  bounded  in 
pursuit  of  the  deer,  or  crept  stealthily  on  the  war- 
path, where  now  the  husbandman  turns  up  the  teem- 
ing soil  and  reaps  the  golden  harvest,  or  the  merchant 
threads  the  busy  mart.  One  hundred  years  ago  the 
forest  waved  in  glory  or  in  gloom  over  regions  where 
now  are  smiling  farms,  thriving  villages,  and  crowded 
cities.  One  hundred  years  ago, — but  perhaps  the  con- 
trast will  be  made  more  striking  to  the  reader  by  the 
relation  of  our  humble  story,  the  incidents  of  which 
occurred  in  that  remote  period. 

A  little  over  a  century  ago  there  was  but  a  solitary 
log  hut  on  what  was  then  styled  the  "  Causeway,"  but 
which  in  modern  times  has  borne  the  homely  name 
of  "  Horse  Tavern,"  the  location  of  which  is  about 
two  miles  from  Portland,  on  the  Stroudwater  road.  A 
10*  vii") 


114  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

particular  description  of  tlie  spot  will  not  be  neces- 
sary to  the  development  of  our  story.  It  may  not 
be  amiss  to  say,  that  its  present  name  was  derived 
from  its  being  the  general  watering-place  for  travel- 
lers on  their  way  to  and  from  the  city. 

At  that  time  the  '^  Causeway  "  was  covered  with  a 
dense  growth  of  woods,  which  formed  a  portion  of 
the  primeval  forest  that  once  extended  over  our  whole 
city ;  although  the  sturdy  arms  on  Falmouth  Neck,  as 
Portland  was  then  called,  had  laid  many  a  leafy  mon- 
arch low.  A  man  by  the  name  of  Wier,  or,  according 
to  our  present  orthography,  Wyer,  had  selected  this 
out-of-the-way  spot,  as  it  was  deemed,  for  his  res- 
idence. He  had  made  a  small  opening,  just  sufficient 
to  allow  room  for  the  erection  of  his  rude  hut,  and  to 
afford  a  limited  space  for  a  garden.  Why  be  chose 
this  place,  so  remote  from  the  settlement,  when  men 
clustered  together  for  mutual  safety  and  protection,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  say.  Some  of  the  good  people 
of  Falmouth,  who,  like  many  of  their  descendants, 
were  fond  of  indulging  in  groundless  surmises,  as- 
cribed it  to  a  sinister  motive,  shaking  their  heads  very 
gravely  and  suspiciously  as  they  spoke  of  Joe  Wier's 
temerity  in  thus  exposing  himself  to  the  attacks  of 
the  prowling  red  man.  A  number  of  well-disposed 
persons  cautioned  him  of  the  danger  which  sur- 
rounded him,  and  advised  him  to  move  into  the  set- 
tlement. 

Eut  Vrier  was  a  strong,  bold-hearted  fellow,  and  a 
very  honest  one  to  boot,  for  all  that  we  can  learn. 
He  had  peculiar  social  notions  of  his  own.  He  did 
not  like  a  crowd,  he  wanted  plenty  of  elbow-room. 
xi  creature  of  the  woods,  he  feared  nothing  in  human 


THE   SCOUT.  115 

shape.  Paying  but  little  attention  to  the  cultivation 
of  the  soil,  he  delighted  in  following  the  chase ;  for 
which  purpose  he  would  absent  himself  for  weeks  at  a 
time,  roving  amid  the  green  forest,  and  conforming  in 
his  mode  of  life  more  to  that  of  the  savage  than  his 
civihzed  brethren.  Joe  was  not  always  a  follower  of 
the  deer  and  the  bear,  for,  in  the  frequent  disturbances 
of  the  whites  by  the  red  man,  he  was  employed  as  a 
scout  to  the  expeditions  sent  out  to  punish  and  drive 
off  the  wily  foe.  Well  versed  in  the  cunning  so  char- 
acteristic of  the  Indian,  and  capable  of  enduring  equal 
exposure  and  fatigue,  the  savage  found  in  him  an 
inveterate  enemy.  His  prowess  was  so  well  known 
that  his  name  had  become  a  terror  to  them. 

'^  The  varmints  know  me  too  well  to  molest  me  so 
long  as  I  have  this  trusty  friend  by  my  side,"  said  he, 
slapping  the  breech  of  his  rusty  rifle,  which  had  sent 
death  to  the  heart  of  many  a  wild  denizen  of  the 
woods. 

This  was  no  vain  boast,  for  he  was  famous  far  and 
wide  for  the  accuracy  of  his  aim.  Nothing  could 
escape  his  practical  eye.  The  bird  on  the  wing  and 
the  fleet  deer  ahke  fell  beneath  his  fatal  rifle.  His 
skill  was  so  great,  and  his  fondness  for  sport  so  well 
known,  that  in  time  he  was  only  known  as  Hunting 
Joe,  a  sobriquet  with  which  he  was  evidently  not  a 
little  pleased. 

Joe  was  tall  and  straight  as  an  arrow  when  he  stood 
erect,  and,  though  spare  in  flesh,  his  form  exhibited  a 
muscular  development  which  betokened  great  phys- 
ical power.  His  face  was  bronzed  by  the  weather,  and 
from  under  a  singularly-looking  cap,  made  frr  the 
skin  of  some  wild  animal,  a  few  gray  hairs  str    gled, 


ii6 


FOREST   AND    SHORE. 


telling  of  length  of  years.  The  expression  of  his 
countenance  was  rather  mild  than  otherwise,  though 
the  wrinkles  and  scars  of  time  had  made  sad  havoc 
with  features  apparently  once  more  than  ordinarily 
good-looking.  His  eye,  however,  still  retained  all  the 
fire  of  youth,  and  in  its  quick,  penetrating  glances 
seemed  to  take  an  instantaneous,  comprehensive  view 
of  all  that  was  transpiring  around  him.  Besides  the 
odd-looking  cap  we  have  mentioned,  the  Scout  wore  a 
loose  hunting-frock,  girt  about  the  waist  with  a  deer- 
skin belt,  suspended  from  which  was  a  capacious  pouch 
of  the  same  material,  and  a  sheath  containing  a  formi- 
dable knife.  His  lower  limbs  were  cased  in  leggins, 
and  instead  of  shoes  he  wore  moccasins  similar  to  those 
used  by  the  red  man. 

In  the  year  1745,  the  fifth  French  war,  as  it  was 
styled,  broke  out,  the  longest  and  most  ruthless  of 
those  desolating  conflicts.  Time  and  again  the  savage 
hordes  swept  through  the  infant  settlements  with  blood 
and  flame,  sparing  neither  age  nor  sex.  The  tender 
infant  and  the  gray-haired  sire  alike  shared  the  same 
terrible  fate.  What  the  tomahawk  and  the  scalping- 
knife  left  undone  the  brand  consummated.  No  one 
felt  safe  for  a  moment.  In  the  fields,  in  the  house  of 
God,  and  by  their  bedsides,  the  gun  was  always  at 
hand,  ready  at  a  moment's  warning.  Men  who  lived 
apart  forsook  their  dwellings  and  congregated  in  block- 
houses for  mutual  defence  and  security;  and  when 
they  ventured  abroad  they  stole  out  warily,  dreading 
each  thicket  as  an  ambush,  and  fearful  that  each  tree 
concealed  a  foe. 

In  some  instances  the  fatal  tomahawk  was  arrested 
and  the  victim  spared,  not  from  motives  of  humanity, 


THE   SCOUT.  117 

but  from  the  lust  of  gain;  for,  though  the  French 
awarded  what  may  truly  be  called  blood-money  for 
each  reeking  scalp,  yet  they  offered  a  higher  price  for 
captives,  especially  females,  delivered  in  Canada :  so 
that  cupidity  often  stayed  the  murderous  hand  when 
mercy  plead  in  vain. 


CHAPTER    II. 

In  the  summer  of  1746,  news  was  brought  to  Fal- 
mouth that  a  band  of  savages  had  suddenly  appeared 
at  New  Marblehead,  as  the  town  of  Windham  was  then 
called,  a  pleasant  village  about  ten  miles  from  Port- 
land. The  report  stated  that  they  had  attacked  the 
dwelling  of  a  Mr.  Hanson,  and  butchered  all  of  the 
family  save  one  female.  The  survivor  they  had  taken 
into  captivity.  Early  in  the  morning  the  distressing 
intelligence  reached  Falmouth,  and  the  Scout,  who 
happened  to  be  there,  was  one  of  the  first  to  hear  it. 
About  one  hour  afterwards,  he  might  have  been  seen 
leaving  the  Causeway  and  plunging  into  the  woods, 
with  his  long  rifle  at  a  trail,  proceeding  with  hasty 
strides  towards  the  scene  of  murder.  There  was  an 
unusual  fire  burning  in  his  eye,  a  dark  red  spot  glowed 
on  each  cheek,  and  his  whole  countenance  bore  the 
expression  of  a  chafed  and  angry  spirit. 

He  was  evidently  on  no  common  errand,  for  he 
strode  the  thick  forest,  right  on  through  thicket  and 
brake,  crushing  the  dead  limbs  beneath  his  heavy  tread, 
and  dashing  aside  the  dense  bushes  that  beset  his  way, 
with  a  recklessness   and    haste  which  betrayed  the 


118  FOREST   AND   SHORE, 

agitated  state  of  his  mind.  The  startled  deer  broke 
from  its  covert  immediately  within  his  range,  but  he 
heeded  it  not;  tlie  shaggy  bear  muttered  an  angry 
growl  as  he  roused  it  from  its  lair,  but  it  served  not 
to  attract  his  attention ;  the  stealthy  catamount  raised 
its  terrific,  half-human  cry,  but  his  ear  heard  not  the 
warning.  He  still  pressed  on,  thoughtless  of  danger, 
heedless  of  the  opportunities  offered  for  the  exercise 
of  his  boasted  skill,  and  regardless  of  fatigue.  With 
his  head  slightly  bent  and  his  body  leaning  forward,  to 
have  seen  him  one  would  have  thought  he  was  wander- 
ing at  random  through  the  mazy  woods.  There  was  no 
defined  path  for  him  to  follow, —  a  wild,  trackless  region 
of  towering  trees  and  heavy  underbrush  spread  out  on 
either  hand,  presenting  at  every  step  the  same  unbro- 
ken, unvarying  scene.  Yet  the  Scout  hesitated  not 
a  moment  on  his  way.  Now  and  then,  perhaps,  he 
would  raise  his  head,  and,  after  casting  a  hasty  glance 
around  him,  gazing  for  an  instant  through  the  opening 
branches  on  the  sky,  he  would  resume  his  former  posi- 
tion, continuing  his  route  in  the  same  rapid  manner. 

Mile  after  mile  was  traversed  in  this  way,  until  at 
length,  in  an  incredibly  brief  period,  he  had  reached 
what  was  then  known  as  Mallison's,  but  now  enjoying 
the  unpoetical  cognomen  of  "Horse-Beef  Falls,"  in 
Windham.  The  dwelling  of  the  murdered  family  was  in 
this  neighborhood,  to  which  his  steps  were  immediately 
directed.  The  house  was  deserted.  He  entered  the 
battered  door,  and,  following  a  crimson  stain  that  ran 
along  the  floor  of  the  front  room,  he  proceeded  to  the 
fatal  bedroom.  The  stillness  of  death  brooded  over 
the  place  as  he  stood  there  alone  gazing  on  the  crim- 
son floor,  still  wet  with  the  blood  of  the  victims.     A 


THE   SCOUT.  119 

vengeful  fire  gleamed  in  his  eyes  as  bis  glance  rested 
on  the  dabbled  walls  and  hearth-stone.  For  a  while 
he  remained  silent,  his  breast  heaving  with  emotion, 
overmastering  his  utterance.  At  length  he  found 
words. 

"Accursed  race  !  "  he  muttered  between  his  clenched 
teeth ;  "  a  life  for  each  drop  will  be  too  poor  a  re- 
venge !  "  and  he  clutched  his  rifle  with  a  convulsive 
grasp,  while  an  expression  almost  demoniacal  shot 
wildly  over  his  face. 

For  the  reader  to  understand  the  cause  of  the  emo- 
tion exhibited  by  the  Scout,  we  need  only  say  that  the 
murdered  mother  of  the  family  was  his  only  sister,  and 
the  young  female  carried  into  captivity  was  his  sole 
remaining  child,  who  had  been  on  a  visit  to  her  aunt 
during  the  summer,  her  own  mother  being  dead. 
Good  reason  had  he  for  his  emotion,  with  the  blood 
of  his  kindred  all  about  him,  clinging  in  clots  to  his 
very  feet,  as  if  crying  for  vengeance,  and  a  knowledge 
of  his  idolized  child's  captivity,  perhaps  more  cruel 
suffering  and  death,  racking  his  mind. 

Not  long  did  the  unhappy  man  remain  in  the  cham- 
ber of  death.  With  a  moan,  rather  than  a  sigh,  he 
left  the  room,  and,  tightening  the  belt  around  his  body, 
he  pre}5ared  on  the  instant  to  strike  on  the  trail  of  the 
foe.  Just  at  that  moment  a  footstep  w^as  heard,  as 
of  one  cautiously  approaching  the  house.  The  Scout 
raised  his  rifle  in  readiness  for  use.  The  dry  branches 
crackled  beneath  the  tread  of  the  intruder,  but  still  he 
entered  not  the  door.  Half-hoping  that  it  might  be  a 
prowling  savage,  the  Scout  loosened  his  long  hunting- 
knife,  and  then  crept  softly  to  the  window,  disposing 


120  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

himself  so  as  to  catch  sight  of  the  one  outside  without 
exposing  his  own  person. 

For  a  time  nothing  met  his  sight.  Presently,  from 
behind  a  clump  of  bushes,  there  emerged,  not  the 
expected  red  man,  but  a  youth  of  some  twenty-three 
or  four  years  of  age.  The  young  man  was  armed 
with  a  rifle,  and  fully  equipped,  as  for  a  long  tramp. 
He  was  moving  carefully  around,  as  if  in  search  of 
some  object,  first  examining  the  bushes  on  either  hand, 
and  then  bending  down  and  intently  gazing  upon  the 
grass.  At  length,  as  if  satisfied  with  his  scrutiny,  he 
was  about  plunging  into  the  woods,  when  the  Scout 
addressed  him. 

"  My  young  friend  —  Mayberry — where  now  ?  This 
way  a  moment." 

The  young  man  started,  and,  with  a  look  of  surprise, 
turned  and  hastened  toward  the  house,  at  the  door  of 
which  he  met  the  Scout.  A  silent  grasp  of  the  hand 
ensued.  There  was  no  occasion  for  words  to  explain 
each  other's  object. 

"  I  have  discovered  their  trail,  sir,"  said  the  new- 
comer, with  a  flushed  though  sad  countenance.  "  We 
have  no  time  to  lose  ;  come." 

"But  you  were  not  going  alone?"  said  the  Scout, 
as  he  sttpped  in  front  of  the  dwelling,  glancing  grate- 
fully at  the  young  man  as  he  spoke. 

"  Alone,  and  to  the  end  of  the  world,  sir,  for  rescue 
and  revenge !  The  rest  are  wanted  at  home  for  de- 
fence, and  they  tried  to  persuade  me  to  remain ;  but 
my  mind  was  fixed." 

"  One  word  more,  young  man,"  said  the  Scout,  in  a 
faltering  voice ;  "  are  all  gone,  —  all  ?  " 

"Not  one  saved,  sir,  but  Mabel.     Every  soul  of 


THE   SCOUT.  121 

them  shockingly  butchered.  They  will  be  buried  from 
the  block-house  this  afternoon." 

The  Scout  hastily  dashed  a  tear  from  his  eye,  then, 
grasping  his  piece,  he  said,  ^^Let  us  forward,  —  fol- 
low me !  " 

And  the  two  started,  like  hounds  on  the  scent,  in 
pursuit  of  the  f(je,  the  Scout  leading  the  way,  his 
more  practised  eye  at  once  striking  the  traih 


CHAPTER    III. 

For  some  time  not  a  word  was  said  as  they  made 
their  way  through  the  tangled  forest ;  each  seemed  to 
be  communing  with  his  own  thoughts.  The  younger, 
a  manly,  athletic  youth,  with  a  fine,  fresh  countenance, 
and  a  determined  expression  in  his  features,  followed 
close  in  the  footsteps  of  his  companion,  whose  tall, 
sinewy  form  gave  evidence  of  great  physical  strength. 
Although  he  had  long  passed  the  meridian  of  life,  yet 
age  had  not  dampened  his  vigor.  His  face  was  brown 
with  exposure  and  well  seamed  with  years,  still  his 
rough  features  wore  a  kindly  expression,  although  an 
occasional  sternness  would  steal  over  them,  and  an 
angry,  fierce  glance  gleam  from  his  eye,  as  a  passing 
thought  of  the  object  he  had  in  view  flitted  through 
his  brain.  The  long  silence  was  at  last  interrupted 
by  the  Scout's  addressing  his  companion,  without 
checking  his  pace,  however. 

"  An  ]  so  yon  were  going  in  pursuit  alone,  my 
young  friend?  I  honor  your  courage,  boy,  but  it 
would  have  been  rash.  Unacquainted  as  you  are  with 
11 


122  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

the  cunning  habits  of  these  wood-fiends,  how  could 
you  expect  to  cope  with  them  single-handed?" 

"  I  could  die,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  deter- 
mined tone. 

"  And  add  one  more  to  the  number  scored  in  blood," 
rejoined  the  Scout.  "No,  no,  young  man,  life  is  too 
precious  to  be  recklessly  thrown  away.  Stout  hearts 
and  strong  arms  are  too  scarce  in  the  settlements,  and 
we  shall  need  all  we  can  muster  before  this  bloody 
war  is  over." 

"But  you  were  going  alone,  were  you  not?" 

"  Ay,  but  my  life  is  not  so  precious  as  yours.  If 
Mabel  is  lost,  I  should  have  none  to  mourn  me.  Then, 
again,  I  know  the  nature  of  these  devils,  and  my 
chance  would  be  better.  I  am  glad  of  your  company^ 
however,  and -from  my  heart  I  thank  you  for  the 
interest  you  take  in  me  and  mine.  I  have  heard  there 
was  a  liking  'tween  you  and  the  gal,  and  I  am  rejoiced 
to  know  that  you  are  worthy  of  her.  With  the  bless- 
ing of  Heaven  we  may  circumvent  them  that  have  her 
yet,  and,  if  so  be  she  is  alive,  and  we  all  get  back  to 
the  settlements  again,  she  is  yours,  youngster.  But, 
if  they  have  murdered  her " 

"  You  do  not  fear  that  event?"  said  the  young  man, 
hastily,  the  glow  on  his  cheeks  giving  place  to  the 
.pallor  of  alarm. 

"  I  don't  know,  James,"  replied  the  Scout,  shaking 
his  head  doubtfully.  "  I  am  loath  to  think  on  it ;  but 
when  their  blood  is  up  there  's  no  knowing  to  what 
lengths  they  will  go.  If  they  suspected  now  that  any 
one  was  on  their  trail,  and  she  should  hinder  their 
flight,  her  scalp  would  dangle  at  their  belts  in  a  mo- 
ment.'' 


THE    SCOUT.  123 

The  thought  of  the  possibility  of  such  an  event 
produced  a  protracted  silence,  as  they  strode  on  their 
way,  brooding  over  the  situation  of  the  captive.  Hour 
after  hour  passed  away,  and  still  they  slackened  not 
their  speed.  But  few  words  passed  between  them; 
for,  besides  the  necessity  of  restraining  every  possible 
noise,  through  fear  of  a  surprise,  they  were  each  too 
much  occupied  with  their  own  thoughts  to  continue  a 
conversation.  Many  a  mile  had  been  passed  over, 
when  at  last  the  Scout  hesitated  in  his  rapid  gait, 
and  shortly  came  to  a  dead  halt. 

The  sun  was  getting  low,  and  the  forest  was  so 
dense,  the  fading  light  scarcely  penetrated  the  thick 
foliage  of  the  overhanging  branches.  So  shrouded  in 
gloom,  indeed,  had  their  way  become,  that  it  required 
the  closest  scrutiny  of  the  quick-sighted  Scout  to 
detect  the  trail,  which  at  first  was  broad  and  distinct, 
as  if  the  savages  had  roved  carelessly  along,  thinking 
pursuit  out  of  question ;  but  for  some  distance  it  ap- 
peared that  they  had  grown  more  careful,  for  it  was 
evident  that  pains  had  been  taken,  if  not  to  conceal, 
at  least  to  render  their  route  as  little  marked  as  pos- 
sible. 

"  It  is  getting  too  dark  to  travel  farther  to-night,'^ 
said  the  Scout,  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  leaned  his  rifle 
against  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  pine  .and  wiped  the  drops 
from  his  brow.  ^^  Something  has  occurred  to  make 
them  more  careful,  for  I  have  observed  the  last  hour 
or  two  the  trail  has  been  growing  more  faint  as  we 
proceeded.  You  see  by  the  prints  on  the  leaves  all 
around  us  that  they  made  a  halt  here,  probably  for 
consultation.  And  here  you  see  by  the  bent  twigs 
that  they  have  struck  off  in  this   direction.     If  they 


124  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

were  alarmed  they  had  got  over  it,  from  the  broad 
trail  they  made  again ;  or  this  may  be  some  trick  of 
the  desateful  beasts.  As  there  should  be  a  spring 
near,  from  the  trickling  of  yonder  water,"  continued 
the  Scout,  "we  had  better  make  a  stop  here  for  the 
night ; "  and  he  proceeded  to  disencumber  himself  of 
his  accoutrements. 

"  But  there  is  still  daylight  enough  to  follow  their 
track,"  said  the  young  man,  impatient  of  delay^ 
"  Every  moment  is  important :  we  have  a  broad  trail 
before  us,  why  not  follow  it  ?  " 

"  Patience,  patience,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  man, 
throwing  down  his  hunting-pouch.  "  'T  is  a  hard  les- 
son, but  you  must  I'arn  it.  '  Make  haste,  make  waste,' 
are  words  full  of  sound  wisdom,  simple  as  they  read, 
my  young  friend.  I  am  as  anxious  to  overtake  the 
varmints  as  you  are,  but  there  is  more  in  the  signs 
about  us  than  meets  the  eye,  and  I  want  broad  day- 
light to  pry  into  them.  We  have  travelled  a  smart 
piece  to-day,  and  a  good  night's  rest  will  refresh  us 
for  an  early  start  in  the  morning." 

So  saying,  the  Scout  set  about  those  preparations 
for  camping  out  which  a  long  acquaintance  with,  a 
forest  life  had  rendered  familiar  to  him.  In  a  short 
time  his  arrangements  were  completed ;  everything 
was  disposed  to  guard  against  a  sudden  attack ;  and, 
after  partaking  of  a  hearty  meal  of  the  humble  fare 
they  had  brought  with  them,  they  sought  their  leafy 
couches,  the  evening  breeze  gently  waving  the  tree- 
tops  and  producing  a  lulling  murmur  among  the 
leaves,  occasionally  swaying  the  branches  aside,  and 
letting  in  the  rays  of  the  rising  moon  on  the  silent 
and  apparently  deserted  spot. 


THE   SCOUT. 


CHAPTER   lY. 


The  sun  was  glistening  on  the  tops  of  the  tallest 
trees  ere  the  young  man  awoke  from  a  deep  slumber, 
into  which  he  had  only  fallen  at  a  late  hour.  The 
mission  he  was  on,  the  anxiety  he  felt  in  the  fate  of 
one  so  dear  to  his  heart,  had  kept  him  restless  and 
uneasy.  He  hardly  thought  of  his  own  situation,  of 
the  dangers  that  surrounded  him,  although  the  occa- 
sional cry  of  some  wild  animal,  or  the  sudden  crack- 
ing of  the  dry  limbs  around  him,  would  for  a  moment 
recall  him  to  a  sense  of  his  own  peril.  It  was  some- 
time past  midnight  ere  his  perturbed  mind  was  suffi- 
ciently composed  to  induce  sleep.  Even  when,  from 
sheer  weariness,  his  senses  were  locked  in  slumber, 
his  teeming  brain  was  busy  with  images  connected 
with  the  maiden's  captivity,  plainly  manifested  by  his 
murmured  exclamations,  frequent  shiftings  of  position, 
and  sudden  starts. 

When  he  awoke,  he  sprang  upon  his  feet  and  turned 
to  arouse  his  companion,  but  he  found  that  he  had  got 
the  start  of  him.  Another  glance  discovered  to  him 
the  Scout  seated  on  the  mossy  roots  of  a  tall  oak,  with 
the  provisions  for  the  morning  meal  in  waiting  before 
him. 

"  Young  limbs  require  more  rest  than  aged  ones," 
said  the  old  man,  with  a  smile,  after  saluting  his  com- 
panion. "While  you  have  been  dreaming  there,  I 
have  been  taking  a  look  about  us.  One  cannot  pass 
through  the  woods  as  he  would  on  the  beaten  high- 
way. I  told  you  last  night,"  he  continued,  as  he  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  coarse  viands  before  him,  "  that 
11^ 


126  FOREST   AM3   SHORE. 

we  wanted  daylight  to  read  the  signs  hereabonts,  and 
the  event  has  proved  that  I  was  right.  If  we  had  fol- 
lowed on  the  route  proposed  by  you  last  night,  James, 
we  should  have  had  a  pesky  tramp  of  it,  and  that  is  all, 
for  our  pains.  Cunning  varmints  are  them  red-skins, 
but  they  are  not  foxy  enough  to  cheat  the  old  Scout 
yet !  " 

^'  Surely,  sir,  that  is  their  trail  branching  off  to  the 
right,  over  the  hillock  yonder?  "  asked  the  young  man 
in  a  toner  of  surprise. 

"  Sartin  true,  there  's  no  mistake  about  that,  boy. 
One  with  half  an  eye  could  follow  a  path  marked  as 
that.  But  see  here:  just  go  beyond  that  clump  of 
bushes  there  by  that  cedar  to  the  left,  and  bring  me 
what  you  find.'' 

The  young  man  obeyed  him,  and  after  a  brief  search 
he  returned,  with  a  strip  of  calico,  a  mere  shred,  which 
he  found  attached  to  a  thorn-bush. 

''  There,"  continued  the  Scout,  "  the  strip  you  hold 
came  from  the  poor  girl's  dress,  either  left  by  design 
or  accident.  If  the  former,  it  proves  that  she  is  not 
frightened  out  of  her  wits,  at  any  rate ;  if  the  latter,  I 
hold  it  as  a  sign  that  Providence  is  with  us,  and  will 
guide  us  aright,  if  we  will  onl^^  do  our  part  by  using 
a  proper  discretion.  I  calkerlate  now,  that  the  sav- 
ages began  to  suspect  that  they  might  be  followed,  and 
a  part  of  them  were  sent  off  this  way^  leaving  a  broad 
trail  for  fools  to  follow,  if  they  will,  but  not  one  so 
well  I'arned  in  their  deviltries  as  the  old  hunter/^ 
added  the  Scout,  with  a  low  chuckle. 

''  By  obsarving  the  place,"  lie  continued,  "  where 
you  found  that  piece  of  ciotli,  you  will  find,  if  you 
look  sharp,  Mabel's  foot-prints,  on  one  spot  in  partic- 


THE   SCOUT.  127 

nlar,  where  she  gi'ound  her  heel  into  the  turf, — the 
brave  girl,  —  as  if  on  purpose.  Shoulder  your  pack, 
my  good  fellow,  and  let  us  be  off.  I  reckon  as  how 
we  shall  be  close  on  their  heels  by  nightfall." 

It  took  but  a  short  time  to  get  ready,  and  they  im- 
mediately started  off  on  the  new  trail,  the  Scout  lead- 
ing the  way  with  such  a  rapid  pace  that  his  compan- 
ion, no  inexperienced  walker,  found  it  difficult  to  keep 
up  with  him. 

The  trail  on  which  tliey  now  struck  was  that  of 
three  persons  only,  as  near"  as  they  could  make  out, 
the  great  body  of  the  party  having  probably  gone  off 
in  another  direction  to  draw  off  the  pursuit,  should 
one  be  made,  or  perhaps  on  some  other  predatory 
expedition.  Ere  long  the  Scout  found  it  necessary  to 
slacken  his  speed,  and  to  examine  more  carefully  to 
ascertain  the  route  of  those  they  were  pursuing.  At 
times  the  trail  would  be  lost  altogether,  but  the  quick 
eye  of  the  old  man,  which  seemed  to  take  in  every 
object,  however  minute,  at.  a  glance,  would  soon  dis- 
cover it  again.  Great  precaution  was  observed  as 
they  proceeded,  for  they  knew  not  how  far  distant 
they  might  be  from  the  foe.  At  times  the  young  man 
was  directed  to  ascend  some  tall  tree,  which  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  in  order 
to  detect  any  sign  of  the  fugitives;  at  other  times  the 
Scout  would  come  to  a  stand,  and  place  his  ear  to  tfie 
ground,  for  the  same  purpose.  But,  except  the  trail, 
they  had  as  yet  discovered  nothing. 

It  was  now  getting  towards  noon,  and  the  two  in 
pursuit  were  moving  steadily  though  briskly  forward, 
for  of  late  the  trail  had  grown  at  every  step  more  and 
more  fresh,  giving  assurance  that  the  party  they  wer* 


128  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

seeking  could  not  be  a  great  distance  in  advance  of 
them,  \vhen  the  Scout  made  a  sudden  halt. 

"  Hist !  "  said  he  in  a  low  whisper  to  his  companion, 
pointing  at  the  same  time  to  a  clump  of  thick  bushes 
that  crowned  a  slight  ascent  a  short  distance  in  front 
of  them.  "  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  things  yonder. 
See  to  your  arms,  my  lad;  we  may  have  a  use  for 
them  presently.^' 

The  young  man  hastily  reprimed  his  piece  and  held 
it  ready  for  immediate  action. 

^'  Wait  here,"  continued  the  Scout,  "  while  I  take  a 
peep  about  us.  There  may  be  mischief  in  the  neigh- 
borhood." So  saying,  he  plunged  into  the  underbrush 
at  his  right  and  disappeared. 

For  some  time  the  young  man  stood  his  ground, 
waiting  in  anxious  expectation,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
steadfastly  on  the  thicket.  He  could  see  nothing  to 
cause  the  alarm  exhibited  by  the  Scout.  Everything 
at  first  appeared  as  usual,  and  he  began  to  wonder  at 
the  movements  of  his  companion.  Presently,  how- 
ever, he  discovered  a  slight  movement  among  the 
branches  in  the  centre  of  the  clump,  which  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances  would  not  have  attracted  his 
notice.  In  a  short  time  the  bushes  became  more  agi- 
tated, accompanied  by  a  snapping  of  the  dry  twigs. 
A  moment  more,  and  the  yoting  man  was  startled  by 
the  sight  of  a  large  catamount,  which  emerged  from 
the  covert  along  the  trunk  of  a  mossy  tree,  which  had 
fallen  into  it,  and  stood  crouched  on  the  projecting  butt 
immediately  before  him,  lashing  its  tail,  and  eyeing 
him  with  an  angry,  flashing  glance,  in  the  very  atti- 
tude of  pouncing  upon  him. 

As  quick  as   thought  the  young  man  brought  his 


THE   SCOtT.  129 

rifle  to  his  shoulder,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of 
drawing  the  trigger,  when  a  wai'ning  from  the  Scout 
restrained  him. 

''Don't  fire,  youngster,  don't  fire.  Get  a  tree  be- 
tween you,  if  possible,  and  leave  him  to  me.'^ 

The  sound  of  the  Scout's  voice  seemed  to  divert 
the  attention  of  the  animal,  for  he  turned  his  head  in 
the  direction  whence  it  came,  gnashing  his  fangs  and 
impatiently  clawing  the  decayed  trunk  with  his  cat- 
like paws.  The  young  man  seized  the  opportunity, 
and  made  a  movement  with  the  intention  of  securing 
the  cover  of  a  large  tree  a  few  feet  from  him.  Ho 
had  scarcely  taken  the  first  step,  when  with  the  quick- 
ness of  lightning  the  formidable  beast  turned  and 
gathered  himself  for  a  spring,  uttering  at  the  same 
time  the  peculiar  cry  which  always  precedes,  or  rather 
accompanies,  the.  fatal  leap.  The  young  man  gave 
himself  up  for  lost;  but  at  that  instant  the  sharp 
report  of  a  rifle  rang  through  the  woods,  and  the  pan- 
ther, bounding  high  in  the  air,  fell  struggling  within  a 
few  feet  of  where  he  stpod,  spell-bound  with  fear. 

"  There  's  an  end  of  that  varmint !  ^'  exclaimed  the 
Scout,  bursting  from  a  thick  copse  near  by.  "  But 
take  care  of  yourself,  my  lad,''  he  shouted,  "  for  the 
crittur  is  terrible  in  his  agonies,  and  hardly  safe  when 
the  life  is  gone. 

"  I  have  made  worse    shots  in  my  life  than  that,^^ 
continued  he,  as  he  pointed  to  a  dark  spot  in  the  fore- 
head of  the  writhing  animal,  whence  the  warm  blood 
was  fast  oozing.    ''He  's  a  wicked  thing  when  his  rage 
^  is  up,  and  bad  as  -a  red-skin,  every  inch  of  him.     But 
J  we  have  no  time  to  waste  over  him.    I  was  loath  to  fire, 
'^  for  the  report  may  reach  the  ears  of  those  who  need     ^ 


t^h^ 


130  FOREST  a:sd  shore. 

but  the  falling  of  a  leaf  to  arouse  their  suspicions.'^ 
So  saying,  the  Scout  carefully  reloaded  his  piece,  and 
hastened  again  on  the  pursuit. 

Casting  a  glance  on  the  expiring  panther,  whose 
dying  eye  still  gleamed  ferociously  on  him  as  he 
passed,  young  Mayberry  followed  his  companion, 
grateful  for  his  late  escape,  yet  fearful  that  the  report 
of  the  gun  might  betray  their  approach  to  the  savages, 
and  thus  jeopardize  the  life  of  the  captive,  or  at  any 
rate  put  them  on  their  guard,  and  so  prevent  a 
surprise. 


CHAPTER    V. 

The  same  anxiety  on  account  of  the  report  of  the 
gun  that  troubled  the  young  man's  mind  seemed  also 
to  burden  the  thoughts  of  the  Scout,  for,  after  travel- 
ling along  some  time  in  silence,  he  remarked,  in  a  low 
tone, — 

'^  These  woods  are  master  places  for  carrying  sound. 
I  've  hearn,  'fore  now,  when  I  've  been  out  hunting,  a 
report  go  echoing  through  the  forest,  just  as  though 
each  tree  had  a  tongue  of  its  own,  and  so  caught  up 
and  repeated  the  sound  to  its  neighbor,  until  it  went 
clean  through  the  whole  tract.  But  I  hope  there  are 
no  such  tell-tale  trees  in  these  parts,  for  if  they  should 
bear  that  pesky  shot  to  the  red-skins  we  are  in  s'arch 
of,  it  would  be  an  evil  report  for  us,  I  consate,  though 
we  raised  it  ourself 

^'  Tread  softly,  my  boy,"  continued  the  old  man, 
"and  don't  disturb  the  bushes  more  than  you  can 


THE   SCOUT.  131 

help.  We  must  be  careful  of  our  trail,  for  there  's  no 
telling  how  many  of  the  varmin  there  may  be  prowl- 
ing around  us." 

Every  step  was  now  taken  with  the  greatest  cau- 
tion. Particular  care  was  observed  to  prevent  the 
least  noise,  even  the  snapping  of  a  twig,  and  our 
two  friends  pressed  forward  so  softly  and  stealthily 
that  they  scarcely  disturbed  the  dry  leaves  in  their 
path.  From  the  signs  around  them  the  hunter  knew 
that  the  Indians  could  not  be  far  off.  At  one  spot, 
which  they  reached  about  two  hours  after  their  affair 
with  the  panther,  the  marks  were  so  fresh,  the  Scout 
assured  his  companion  that  they  could  not  have  left  it 
but  a  short  time  before.  The  savages  had  evidently 
set  about  preparing  a  hasty  meal,  and  it  was  possible 
the  report  of  the  gun  here  reached  them,  for  there 
were  obvious  marks  of  a  hurried  departure. 

As  the  new-comers  cast  searching  glances  around 
them,  the  Scout  prying  into  the  neighboring  bushes 
as  if  fearful  of  an  ambuscade,  the  quick  eye  of  the 
young  man  caught  sight  of  an  object  which  sent  the 
blood  with  a  warmer  flow  through  his  veins.  The 
place  in  which  they  found  themselves  was  a  small 
area,  nearly  surrounded  with  lofty  trees,  whose  over- 
hanging branches  cast  a  deep  shade  over  it.  On  one 
side  a  massive  tree  lay  stretched  along  the  ground,  its 
extremities  concealed  by  the  underbrush  into  which 
it  had  fallen.  In  a  slight  crevice  of  this  tree,  which 
had  doubtless  been  occupied  as  the  maiden's  seat, 
as  if  placed  there  to  attract  attention,  the  young  man 
detected  a  bead  bracelet,  which  he  at  once  recognized 
as  a  gift  of  his  own  to  Mabel.  It  was  a  token  to  him 
that   she   anticipated   a   pursuit,   and   his   heart  was 


132        -  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

thrilled  with  a  secret  pleasure,  for  it  assured  liim  that 
she  had  confidence  in  him,  and  relied  on  his  exertions 
to  rescue  her  from  captivity.  It  showed  also  that  she 
was  not  disheartened,  but  still  retained  her  spirits  un- 
broken. 

As  he  eagerly  directed  the  attention  of  his  com- 
panion to  the  discovery,  the  Scout's  eye  brightened, 
and  a  complacent  smile  lighted  up  his  features,  as  he 
remarked,  in  a  barely  audible  whisper,  — "  Ay,  the 
gal  has  a  quick  wit  and  a  courageous  heart,  though 
she  is  a  darter  of  mine.  She  is  worth  fighting  for, 
boy,  and  when  the  time  comes,  I  hope  your  heart 
won't  fail  you." 

*^  I  hope  you  don't  doubt  tne,  sir  I  "  said  the  youth, 
reddening  slightly  as  he  spoke. 

"  Distrust  you,  youngster  ?  "  replied  the  Scout,  in  a 
tone  of  Iwnest  sincerity,  ^'  never  you  think  of  it.  I 
only  thought  I  would  give  you  a  hint  of  what  is'  be- 
fore us.  There  may  be  blood  spilt  before  we  see  the 
end  of  this  business.  One  or  both  of  us  may  lay  our 
bones  in  the  forest ;  there  's  no  saying,  for  these  red- 
skins have  a  sure  eye  and  seldom  burn  powder  for 
nothing.  If  either  of  us  fall,  I  pray  I  may  be  the  one, 
lad,  for  in  the  course  of  natur'  I  can't  last  long,  and 
the  old  tree  can  be  better  spared  than  the  young. 
Howsomever,  as  long  as  I  can  raise  my  rusty  old 
friend  here  —  ha  !  "  said  he,  with  a  sudden  start,  "what 
is  that?". 

A  slight  rustling  of  the  dry  leaves  was  heard  a  little 
distance  off,  as  if  some  one  were  making  their  way 
cautiously  through  the  thick  underbrush  which  sprang 
up  in  every  direction. 

''  To  cover,  James  I  "  whispered  the  Scout.     "  To 


THE   SCOUT.  13-3 

7  cover,  and  lie  close  !  "  and  he  crept  softly  behind  the 
huge  pine  against  which  he  had  been  leaning.  The 
young  man  followed  his  example,  darting  behind  a 
dense  thicket,  where  he  could  observe  the  Scout's  mo- 
tions, as  well  as  reconnoitre  the  spot  he  had  left. 

He  had  barely  secreted  himself,  when  a  tall  savage 
was  seen  to  advance,  with  a  snake-like  motion,  into  a 
little  opening  just  beyond  the  small  enclosure  we  have 
mentioned.  He  paused  for  a  moment  after  emerging 
from  the  bushes,  and  then,  glancing  furtively  around, 
he  bent  down  and  applied  his  ear  to  the  ground.  The 
slightest  sound,  even  the  mere  movement  of  a  foot, 
so  keen  is  the  sense  of  hearing  in  the  Indian,  might 
have  betrayed  them.  Scarcely  drawing  a  full  breath, 
the  concealed  party  watched  with  no  little  anxiety  the 
motions  of  the  wary  savage. 

From  where  young  Mayberry  stood  he  had  the  In- 
dian completely  in  his  range  and  at  his  mercy,  and  he 
turned  his  head  inquiringly  towards  the  Scout  and 
aiade  a  motion  to  that  effect.  The  old  man  shook  his 
bead  negatively,  and  he  turned  again  to  observe  the 
further  movements  of  the  red  man.  In  the  mean  time 
the  savage,  as  if  satisfied  with  his  scrutiny,  raised 
himself  from  his  bent  posture,  and  crept  silently  away 
in  the  direction  whence  they  had  come. 

For  ten  minutes  or  more  the  white  men  remained 
perfectly  motionless  in  their  coverts,  at  the  expiration 
of  which  the  Scout  left  his  post,  and,  after  throwing 
careful  glances  around  him  and  bending  his  ear  to  the 
ground,  beckoned  the  young'man  to  follow  him. 

"  I  could  have  brought  him  down  without  fail,"  said 
the  latter,  in  a  cautious  whisper,  as  he  joined  his  com- 
panion. 

12 


134  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

"  Yes,  and  brought  tlie  whole  pack  upon  us  at  the 
same  tune,  perhaps/'  added  the  old  man,  in  the  same 
under-tone.  ^^  There  '«  no  telhng  how  many  of  tlie  sar- 
pents  there  are  about  here.  The  woods  may  be  ahve 
with  them.  But  I  don't  understand  the  meaning  of 
this  fellow's  lurking  so  slyly  in  this  direction,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  doubtful  shake  of  his  head. 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  the  younger,  '^  he  was  sent 
back  to  ascertain  about  the  firing." 

"I  b'lieve  you're  right,  James;  that  must  be  it. 
And  the  cunning  dog  will  return  on  our  trail,  and  try 
to  sarcumvent  us  that  way.  But  he  's  run  by  the 
game  to  a  dead  sartainty  this  time,  and  now  let  us 
profit  by  it." 

After  again  cautioning  his  companion  to  be  silent 
and  wary, —  an  admonition  the  latter  felt  to  be  entirely 
useless,  —  the  two  started  briskly  forward  on  the  trail 
they  had  been  so  long  following,  and  which  promised 
to  lead  them  ere  long  to  the  objects  of  their  pursuit, 
^he  day  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close  as  they  struck 
again  into  the  woods,  scarcely  affording  light  sufficient 
to  discern  the  faint  tracks  by  which  their  steps  w^ere 
guided. 


CHAPTER    YI. 

By  the  margin  of  a  little  stream,  which  flowed  from 
a  gradual  descent  and  wound  its  noiseless  way  around 
the  roots  of  old  trees,  now  trickling  unseen  through 
the  green  herbage,  whose  fibres  it  nourished  in  return 
for  the  protection  afforded,  and  now  lapsing  gently 
under  the  fallen  and  decayino-  trunks  which  extended 


THE   5BC0UT.  135 

across  but  did  not  obstruct  its  course,  and  at  last  steal- 
ing its  way  through  a  broad  open  space,  —  a  green 
little  forest  nook,  fit  spot  for  fairy  gambols  in  the  pale 
moonlight,  which  now  shed  its  mild  radiance  over  the 
scene,  —  by  the  margin  of  this  quiet  watercourse,  part 
way  up  the  slight  ascent,  was  seated,  or  rather  reclined, 
a  young  maiden  on  a  mossy  knoll,  just  out  of  the  shade 
of  a  wide-spreading  elm.  Her  dress  was  somewhat 
rent  and  wayworn,  and  her  countenance,  as  revealed 
by  the  full  harvest  moon,  betokened  much  exhaustion 
and  not  a  little  anxiety,  although  there  was  something 
in  the  expression  of  her  features  which  spoke  of  a 
spirit  unbroken.  Her  face  was  singularly  handsome, 
and  her  form,  notwithstanding  the  disarrangement  of 
her  dress,  betrayed  much  natural  grace. 

At  the  moment  we  have  introduced  her  to  the 
reader,  her  glance  was  directed  to  the  many  little 
openings  in  the  surrounding  forest,  watching  the 
curious  effects  of  the  hght  and  shade,  the  deep  shad- 
ows of  the  trees  and  the  tall  bushes  falling  sharp  and 
distinct  on  the  turf,  forming  a  grotesquely  checkered 
scene,  as  well  as  a  picture  of  unrivalled  beauty. 
Agitated  and  burdened  as  was  the  heart  of  the  maiden, 
it  was  not  insensible  to  the  softening  influence  of  the 
scene.  As  her  gaze  lingered  on  the  different  points 
of  attraction,  for  the  time  she  forgot  the  terrible  scenes 
she  had  but  recently  passed  through  and  the  horrors 
of  her  present  situation.  Her  captivity  and  the  prob- 
able fate  that  awaited  her  wholly  passed  from  her 
mind. 

In  this  dreamy  state  of  forgetfulness,  her  eye  was 
following  down  the  meanderings  of  the  rivulet,  which 
in  the  bright  moonbeams,  appeared  like  a  stream  of 


136  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

molten  silver,  until  its  course  was  lost  in  a  dark  clump 
of  bushes  which  bounded  the  small  opening,  when  she 
gave  an  involuntary  start,  while  an  exclamation  of 
delighted  surprise  arose  to  her  hps ;  ere  it  found  utter- 
ance, she  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  restrain  it.  The 
next  moment  the  dark  form  of  a  savage  rose  stealthily 
in  the  shade  behind  her.  The  deep,  guttural  monotone 
made  use  of  by  the  red  man  when  surprised, "  hugh  !  " 
was  uttered  in  a  subdued  voice,  giving  evidence  that 
the  movement  of  the  maiden,  slight  as  it  was,  had  not 
escaped  his  observation. 

For  three  or  four  minutes  the  gaze  of  the  savage 
was  rivetted  on  the  spot  to  which  her  glance  had  been 
so  lately  directed,  while  his  hand  clutched  the  fatal 
tomahawk,  ready  for  instant  action.  The  maiden  held 
her  breath,  while  her  heart  beat  almost  audibly,  half 
in  hope,  half  in  fear.  Some  time  elapsed,  yet  nothing 
unusual  met  their  gaze  ;  but  presently  a  slight  rustling 
was  heard  among  the  bushes,  and  soon  after  a  young 
doe  was  seen  to  emerge  hastil}^  from  the  thicket, 
gazing  around  in  a  startled  manner.  For  a  moment  it 
stood  with  its  head  half  turned  to  its  late  covert;  then, 
slowly  stalking  towards  the  little  stream,  it  lapped 
awhile  the  bright  waters,  and  shortly  after  plunged 
again  into  the  bushes ;  and  the  same  deep  sohtude  as 
before  reigned  over  the  scene.  As  if  his  suspicions 
were  lulled  to  rest,  the  savage  soon  after  sank  quietly 
back  on  his  leafy  couch,  and  ere  long  his  heavy 
breathing  assured  the  maiden  that  his  senses  were 
again  locked  in  slumber. 

Mabel  (for  the  reader  will  recognize  the  Scout's 
daughter  in  the  young  female  we  have  been  speaking 
of)  listened  with  an  eager  ear  to  the  deep  respirations 


THE   SCOUT.  137 

of  the  sleeper.  In  order  to  test  the  soundness  of  his 
slumber,  she  moved  her  feet  so  as  to  produce  a  rust- 
ling noise  among  the  crisp  leaves  around  her,  and  then 
awaited  in  anxious  expectation  the  result  of  the  trial. 
But  the  sleep  of  the  Indian  was  too  heavy  to  be  thus 
easily  broken.  Under  ordinary  circumstances,  proba- 
bly, even  the  slight  noise  she  had  made  would  have 
aroused  him  at  once ;  but  the  night  previous,  which 
was  that  succeeding  the  massacre,  as  well  as  that  in 
which  the  fatal  deed  was  perpetrated,  had  been  sleep- 
less ones,  and  this,  with  the  fatigue  of  a  long  tramp, 
had  induced  a  deeper  slumber  than  usual. 

Having  satisfied  herself  that  her  captor  was  not 
feigning,  Mabel  again  turned  her  eyes  toward  the 
thicket  with  a  beating  and  anxious  heart.  She  had 
not  gazed  long,  when  a  dark  object  was  seen  creeping 
slowly  and  warily  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  bushes, 
and  presently  a  young  man  stepped  cautiously  into 
the  patch  of  moonlight  in  front.  Though  the  thicket 
was  at  some  distance,  the  quick  eye  of  the  girl  imme- 
diately recognized  the  inti-uder.  A  warm  blush  suf- 
fused her  pale  cheeks,  and  her  bosom  throbbed  with 
intense  emotion,  as  her  glance  fell  on  the  form  of  one 
whose  presence,  it  may  well  be  supposed,  was  never 
more  welcome  than  at  this  trying  moment.  Yet,  amid 
the  thrill  of  joy  which  the  presence  of  her  lover 
inspired,  there  mingled  no  small  degree  of  fear.  She 
supposed  that  he  had  come  to  her  rescue  alone ;  and, 
though  she  had  no  doubt  he  might  easily  overcome 
the  sleeping  savage,  what  if  the  other,  who  had  really 
been  sent  back,  as  young  Mayberry  supposed,  to  ascer- 
tain the  cause  of  the  shot,  — what  if  he  should  return? 
Every  moment  she  expected  to  hear  his  footsteps,  for 
12^ 


138  I-:jL)REST   AND   SHORH. 

the  hour  had  passed  when  he  should  have  been  there ; 
and  what  could  her  lover  do  single-handed  with  two 
such  powerful  foes  ? 

Forgetting  her  own  situation  in  the  danger  thai 
menaced  one  so  dear  to  her,  she  almost  regretted  his 
appearance.  Not  long,  however,  did  she  entertain 
this  feeling,  for  a  moment  after,  to  her  great  joy,  she 
beheld  her  father  standing  by  his  side.  The  gaze  of 
both  was  apparently  fixed  on  her.'  She  was  soon  sat- 
isfied that  she  was  seen  by  them,  for,  after  a  brief  con- 
sultation, her  father  either  made  a  sign  to  that  effect 
or  beckoned  to  her.  What  should  prevent  her  start- 
ing away  to  seek  their  protection  ?  In^  the  first  im- 
pulse of  the  moment,  she  vainly  made' the  attempt. 
Vainly,  we  say,  for  her  crafty  captors  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  guard  against  a  flight  by  confining  her 
limbs,  both  arms  and  feet,  and  thus  rendering  her 
entirely  helpless.  Answering  the  sign  made  by  her 
father  by  holding  up  her  fettered  arms,  she  then  ex- 
erted her  strength  to  remove  the  thongs  from  her 
ankles.  But  they  resisted  all  her  efi*orts ;  and  when, 
from  sheer  exhaustion,  she  gave  over,  for  the  first  time 
since  her  captivity  the  poor  girl  wept.  Finding  that 
her  struggles  were  impotent,  she  cast  a  tearful  glance 
towards  her  friends,  and  again  raised  her  imprisoned 
arms,  thus  giving  them  to  understand  that  she  could 
do  nothing  for  herself.  Shaking  their  heads  affirma- 
tively, as  if  they  comprehended  her  meaning,  the  two 
seemingly  held  another  consultation,  immediately  after 
which  tb«§-  fell  back  into  the  shade  and  were  lost  to 
sight. 


THE   SCOUT.  139 


CHAPTER    YII. 


It  was  very  evident,  from  the  cautious  movements 
of  her  friends,  that  they  were  unaware  of  the  numbei 
of  her  captors.  Had  they  known  the  true  state  of  the 
case,  they  would  undoubtedly  have  taken  bolder  meas- 
ures for  her  rescue,  the  advantages  being  altogether 
on  their  side.  They  were  pretty  well  convinced  that 
there  were  but  two  at  most  to  deal  with,  although 
they  were  not  sure  that  others  had  not  joined  them. 
Even  to  get  the  captive  safely  out  of  the  clutches  of 
two  only,  they  felt  to  be  a  hazardous  game,  well  know- 
ing that  if  their  attempt  were  discovered  the  first  blow 
would  fall  on  her  head.  Aware  of  this,  their  proceed- 
ings were  marked  by  the  greatest  possible  secrecy. 

Knowing  that  some  plan  had  been  matured  for  her 
release,  Mabel  awaited  the  issue  with  trembling  appre- 
hension. Holding  her  breath,  that  she  might  catch 
the  first  intimation  of  the  approach  of  her  deliverers, 
she  waited  until  her  patience  was  sorely  tested.  Min- 
ute after  minute  passed  away,  each  one  seeming  an 
age  in  her  state  of  suspense,  and  still  all  was  silent  as 
death.  Once  only  she  thought  she  heard  a  scarcely 
perceptible  rustle  among  the  leaves  at  a  distance ;  and 
her  eyes  were  immediately  turned  upon  the  sleeping 
savage,  dreading  lest  the  noise  should  break  his  slum- 
bers. But  he  still  slept  on,  breathing  heavily,  and 
occasionally  muttering  unintelligibly  in  his  sleep.  At 
one  time  she  thought  all  was  lost,  for  the  Indian  sud- 
denly half-raised  himself,  uttering  at  the  same  time  a 
slight  exclamation  as  of  surprise.  The  action  and  the 
utterance  were  probably  occasioned  by  the  flitting  of 


140  FOREST    AXD    SHORE. 

some  wild  thought  througli  his  brain,  for  he  soon  set- 
tled away  again  in  the  same  depth  -of  unconsciousness 
as  ever. 

Mabel  now  listened  with  renewed  intensity  for  signs 
indicating  the  approach  of  her  friends,  but  not  a  sound 
could  be  heard.  There  was  not  so  much  as  the  falling 
of  a  leaf  to  break  the  grave-like  stillness.  Dreading 
either  the  awakening  of  the  sleeper  or  the  return  of 
the  absent,  her  anxiety  increased  every  moment.  The 
feeling  of  suspense,  of  uncertainty,  grew  so  strong 
that  it  almost  amounted  to  torture,  and  she  found  it 
difficult  to  sustain  herself  amid  the  conflicting  emo- 
tions that  agitated  her  brea&t.  Again  and  again  she 
bent  her  ear  in  the  hope  of  catching  an  approaching 
sound,  and  for  the  hundredth  time  her  searching  glance 
was  rivetted  on  different  points  whence  she  expected 
the  appearance  of  her  deliverers ;  but  all  in  vain. 
"With  a  sickening  emotion,  and  a  sigh  of  disappoint- 
ment wrung  from  the  very  depths  of  her  heart,  she 
bent  her  head  for  a  moment,  half  yielding  to  the 
weight  that  oppressed  her,  when  a  slight  touch  on  her 
arm  almost  caused  her  to  shriek  out  in  alarm,  so  sud- 
den and  unexpected  was  the  action. 

"  For  your  hfe  be  still ! "  whispered  her  father  in 
her  ear. 

It  required  all  the  effort  she  could  command  to 
obey  him,  so  full  and  strong  was  the  tide  of  feeling 
that  rushed  through  her  heart.  A  moment  hardly 
transpired  when  she  felt  the  thongs  that  bound  her 
wrists  giving  way  and  at  last  drop  from  them.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  throw  her  liberated  amis  around 
her  parent's  neck. 

The  Scout  received  and  returned  the  embrace  in 


THE   SCOUT.  141 

silence,  then  in  a  low  whisper  said :  '^  Here,  my  child, 
take  the  knife  and  loose  your  feet.  Quick,  Mabe,  for 
time  is  precious !  How  many  of  the  varmints  are 
they,  gal  ?  ^'  he  added,  as  she  bent  over  to  sever  the 
cords. 

Ere  she  could  return  an  answer,  a  slight  crashing 
and  a  hasty  step  among  the  underbrush  a  little  in  front 
of  them  struck  her  ear. 

^'  0  God,  father,  he 's  returned !  "  exclaimed  the 
maiden  half-aloud,  forgetful  in  her  alarm  of  everything 
else. 

The  words  had  barely  left  her  lips  when  a  tall  sav- 
age bounded  with  a  shrill  whoop  from  the  bushes  a 
few  yards  in  advance  of  them,  brandishing  his  toma- 
hawk in  the  very  act  of  launching  it  at  the  half-stoop- 
ing girl.  As  quick  as  thought,  the  Scout  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  confronted  him,  interposing  his  own  body 
as  a  shield  to  his  child.  The  action  of  the  Scout  frus- 
trated the  purpose  of  the  Indian,  and  he  poised  his 
weapon  to  strike  down  his  opponent.  His  arm  was 
thrown  back,  and  the  glittering  instrument  was  just 
on  the  point  of  being  sent  on  its  fatal  errand,  when 
the  flash  of  a  gun  lit  up  the  deep  shadows  of  the  for- 
est, followed  by  a  sharp  report,  and  a  rifle  ball  whis- 
tled directly  over  the  shoulder  of  the  Scout.  A  dead, 
crushing  sound  was  heard,  a  smothered  shriek,  and 
the  tall  savage  bounded  high  in  the  air  and  fell  head- 
long among  the  underbrush. 

"  Bravely  done,  my  boy  I "  shouted  the  old  man 
exultingly,  as  his  glance  rested  for  a  moment  on  the 
dead  Indian;  "shouldn't  have  been  ashamed  of  that 
shot  myself.    But  there  is  other  work  for  us  yet.   How 


142  FOREST    AND   SHORE. 

many  of  the  red  devils  are  there,  Mabe?"  said  he, 
turning  quickly  around. 

The  scene  that  met  his  gaze  checked  at  once  every 
feeling  of  exultation.  It  was  his  daughter  darting 
down  the  declivity  and  across  the  opening,  and  the 
lately  sleejoing  Indian  in  full  pursuit,  with  the  long 
hunting-knife  of  the  Scout  held  threateningly  toward 
her.  The  first  impulse  of  the  Scout  was  to  fly  to  her 
rescue,  but  a  moment's  thought  convinced  him  that 
before  he  could  reach  her  it  would  be  too  late  to  save 
her.  A  second  glance  also  revealed  to  him  the  young 
man  rushing  to  her  assistance,  though  the  distance 
between  the  parties  was  so  great,  there  was  no  hope 
of  his  being  able  to  reach  the  infuriated  savage  iu 
time  to  prevent  the  accomplishment  of  his  fatal  pur- 
pose. Something,  however,  must  be  done,  and  that 
too  shortly,  for  the  Indian  was  fast  closing  upon  the 
terrified  maiden,  who  continued  her  flight  directly 
across  the  area. 

Springing  to  the  little  hillock  on  which  he  and  his 
daughter  had  rested  at  the  time  they  met,  the  Scout 
caught  up  his  rifle  and  aimed  it  at  the  savage.  He 
hesitated,  however,  for  the  foe  was  directly  in  range 
with  his  daughter,  and  he  was  fearful  the  same  ball 
might  carry  death  to  her  as  well  as  her  pursuer. 

By  this  time  the  Indian  was  within  a  few  feet  of  his 
victim.  Already  his  arm  was  extended  to  seize  her, 
when  the  Scout  hastily  lowered  his  rifle,  and  shouted, 
with  a  voice  to  which  despair  lent  strength,  "  Double 
on  him,  gal  I     Turn  this  way,  for  your  life  !  " 

As  quick  as  a  flash,  the  panting  maid  turned  short 
on  her  pursuer  in  the  direction  of  her  father.     The 


THE   SCOUT.  143 

movement  was  so  sudden  tLat  she  gained  considerably 
on  the  baffled  savage. 

Once  more  the  Scout  raised  his  rifle  with  a  dehberate 
aim,  and,  taking  advantage  of  the  very  moment  when 
the  savage  was  on  a  sh'ght  rise,  which  brought  his  per- 
son boldly  out  to  view,  while  the  maiden,  being  in  a 
small  hollow,  Avas  out  of  his  range,  the  trigger  was 
drawn.  If  ever  the  Scout  prayed,  it  was  at  that  fear- 
ful moment.  His  child's  existence  hung  on  the  stead- 
iness of  his  nerve,  yet  he  faltered  not.  One  step  only 
had  the  Indian  taken,  when  the  bright  flame  leaped 
from  the  muzzle,  a  ringing  report  followed,  and  when 
the  smoke  cleared  away,  the  long  hunter's  knife  was 
seen  glittering  in  the  moonbeams,  flying  through  the 
air,  wdiile  the  hand  that  so  lately  held  it  was  beating 
the  earth  in  the  paroxysms  of  death.  In  a  moment 
after  the  still  flying  maiden  was  clasped  to  the  pant- 
ing breast  of  young  Mayberry,  in  whose  arms  she 
rested  unscathed,  though  faint  and  exhausted,  and 
scarcely  aware  of  her  safety. 


CHAPTER    YIII. 

"Is  she  hurt?"  anxiously  exclaimed  the  Scout,  as 
he  rushed  to  the  spot  where  his  daughter  stood  sup- 
ported by  the  young  man.  '^  Mabel,  Mabel,  speak  to 
me,  child  I " 

^^  No,  dear  father/'  was  her  faint  reply,  throwing 
herself  into  his  arms ;  "  I  am  safe,  thank  God !  But 
w^here  is  he,  the  Indian?''  and  she  glanced  fearfully 
around  her. 


144  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

"Where  he  can  shed  no  more  innocent  blood," 
replied  the  old  man  with  a  stern  solemnity.  "  There 
lies  the  varmint,  —  there,  where,  if  a  marciful  Provi- 
dence spares  my  life,  many  more  of  the  accursed  race 
will  lie  before  I  'm  done  with  them !  But  come,  James, 
we  must  be  getting  ready  for  a  start.  Pick  up  the 
knife  yonder,  and  see  that  your  piece  is  well  loaded; 
the  whooping  demons  may  be  upon  us  before  we 
know  it.  Sit  you  down,  my  darter,  and  rest  yourself, 
for  we  have  a  long  and  rough  road  before  us,  and  you 
will  need  all  your  strength." 

While  the  young  man  obeyed  the  Scout's  order,  the 
old  man,  after  charging  his  rifle,  stepped  to  the  side 
of  the  dead  Indian  and  rolled  the  corpse  into  a  deep 
hollow,  carefully  covering  it  with  the  dead  leaves,  to 
conceal  it  from  sight  should  the  savages  be  drawn  to 
the  spot  by  the  firing ;  for  he  well  knew,  if  they  dis- 
covered the  bodies  of  the  slain,  they  would  pursue 
them  with  an  untiring  vigilance  and  wreak  on  them  a 
bloody  vengeance. 

But  a  short  time  elapsed  ere  the  party  were  on  the 
move.  Slowly  and  silently  they  threaded  the  gloomy 
forest,  the  Scout  leading  the  way,  stopping  at  short 
intervals  to  listen  if  aught  could  be  heard  of  the 
dreaded  foe.  But  no  sound  broke  the  deep  silence, 
save  the  faint  rustle  occasioned  by  their  passage 
through  the  underbrush.  Once  only  was  it  disturbed. 
Far  behind  them,  swelling  faintly  on  the  night  air,  was 
heard  what  at  first  sounded  like  an  Indian  yell. 

"0  God!"  whispered  the  maiden,  in  a  tremulous 
tone,  a  cold  shudder  running  through  her  frame ;  "  I 
hear  them.  They  will  soon  overtake  us;  they  are 
howling  over  the  slain." 


THE   SCOUT.  145 

The  Scout  stopped  short,  motioning  for  silence, 
while  he  stood  in  the  attitude  of  one  intently  listen- 
ing. A  minute  or  two  elapsed,  when  the  same  sound 
was  borne  more  loudly  to  their  ears. 

" There^  father,  do  you  not  hear  them?"  said  the 
maiden,  in  a  voice  of  increased  alarm. 

"  Ay,"  rephed  the  Scout,  in  a  low  tone,  evidently 
of  relief,  "  I  hear  them,  sure  enough.  They  are  howl- 
ing over  the  dead ;  but  cheer  up,  Mabe, — they  are  not 
Indians.  The  wolves,  gal,  are  feasting  on  the  var- 
mints. 'T  is  a  dismal  sound  in  a  lone  forest,  and  I  Ve 
known  the  time  when  it  has  made  me  tremble  as  you 
do  at  this  moment.  But  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
them  now ;  the  critturs  are  too  busy  over  the  dead  to 
meddle  with  the  living." 

Throughout  the  night  the  party  kept  on  their  way. 
Their  progress  was  very  slow,  for  the  maiden  was 
worn  down  with  fatigue,  although  she  bore  herself 
bravely,  refusing  to  acknowledge  her  weariness,  but 
urging  them  on  when  they  proposed  a  halt  for  the 
purpose  of  rest,  so  anxious  was  she  to  reach  the  set- 
tlements. Nor  was  the  anxiety  of  her  protectors 
much  less  than  her  own,  for  they  knew  not  but  their 
steps  were  tracked,  and  each  moment  they  expected 
to  be  assailed  by  the  treacherous  and  blood-thirsty 
foe. 

Morning  dawned  ere  they  ventured  at  last  to  come 
to  a  halt,  when  exhausted  nature  gave  way,  and  the 
maiden  fell  into  a  deep  slumber.  The  sun  had  got  far 
up  in  the  heavens  ere  she  was  aroused,  when,  refreshed 
by  her  repose,  she  started  with  renewed  vigor  on  her 
toilsome  journey. 

It  will  be  needless  to  follow  them  on  their  V\'ild  and 
13 


146  •  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

wearisome  way.  After  a  most  fatiguing  march,  ren- 
dered doubly  so  by  the  precautions  they  deemed  it 
necessary  to  take, —  now  diverging  widely  from  the 
direct  course  in  order  to  mislead  a  pursuit ;  now 
forcing  their  way  over  broken  ledges  and  through 
rocky  and  diflScult  places,  where  they  would  be  least 
likely  to  leave  a  trail ;  practising  a  thousand  arts 
which  the  sagacity  of  the  Scout  prompted  to  baffle 
their  pursuers,  in  case  they  were  followed,  —  they 
finally,  at  the  close  of  the  second  day,  to  their  great 
satisfaction,  reached  the  Scout's  hut  on  the  Causeway. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  portray  the  joy  of  the 
maiden  when  she  stood  once  more  safely  within  her 
father's  humble  dwelling.  The  dreadful  scenes  in 
which  she  had  been  a  partaker  seemed  more  like  a 
dream  than  the  reality,  although  often,  as  she  thought 
of  the  night  of  the  bloody  massacre,  a  cold  shudder 
evinced  how  indelibly  was  that  shocking  scene  fixed 
upon  her  memory. 

We  presume  some  of  our  readers  would  hardly  be 
satisfied  unless  we  adverted  more  particularly  to  one 
incident  connected  with  two  of  the  personages  of  our 
humble  history.  We  allude,  of  course,  to  Mabel  and 
her  chivalrous  lover,  whose  bravery  was  in  due  time 
rewarded  by  the  possession  of  her,  who,  when  in 
peril,  aroused  in  him  the  bold  resolve  of  rescuing  her 
or  of  perishing  in  the  attempt.  The  hearty  blessing 
invoked  on  the  young  couple  by  the  Scout  after  the 
ceremony,  and  the  honest  sincerity  with  which  he  ad- 
dressed the  bridegroom,  fully  evinced  his  satisfaction 
on  the  occasion. 

"James,  my  boy,"  said  he,  grasping  his  hand,  "I 
told  you  you  should  have  her,  and  I  am  more  proud 


THE   SCOUT.  147 

to  receive  you  as  a  son  than  if  you  were  the  king's 
OAvn,  with  all  his  grandeur  and  gold,  for  I  know  you 
are  worthy  of  the  gal ;  and  may  she  make  you  as 
good  a  wife  as  I  am  sartain  you  will  be  to  her  a  kind 
husband/' 


CHAPTER    IX. 

It  was  but  a  brief  time  ere  the  services  of  the 
"Scout  were  again  called  in  requisition.  Indeed,  during 
that  cruel  war  he  seldom  remained  idle.  Wherever 
was  the  point  of  danger,  there  was  the  Scout  sure  to 
be  found,  battling  the  common  foe.  The  butchery  of 
his  sister  was  never  forgotten,  and  wdienever  a  savage 
fell  beneath  his  unerring  rifle,  his  exclamation,  "  One 
more  drop  atoned  for,"  evinced  a  determination  to 
fulfil  to  the  letter,  if  possible,  the  threat  called  forth 
by  a  sight  of  his  kindred's  blood,  —  "A  life  for  a 
drop ! " 

Shortly  after  the  rescue  of  his  daughter,  he  was 
called  upon  by  a  messenger  from  a  small  settlement  a 
few  miles  distant  from  Falmouth,  now  the  flourishing 
town  of  Saccarappa.  He  was  informed  that  a  band 
of  savages  had  the  night  previous  attacked  and  burnt 
the  house  of  a  Mr.  Warren,  who  was  severely  wounded, 
and  that,  his  two  daughters,  just  verging  into  woman- 
hood, were  carried  into  captivity,  for  whose  rescue 
his  assistance  was  invoked.  The  Scout  needed  no 
urging,  but  immediately  accompanied  the  messenger 
to  Saccarappa,  whence,  after  gathering  all  the  particu 
lars  of  the  attack  and  looking  around  him  in  search 
of  a  trail,  he  started  in  pursuit  of  the  captors.     He 


148  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

would  allow  no  one  to  accompany  him,  saying  that  he 
should  undoubtedly  fall  in  with  some  who  had  already 
started ;  for,  as  soon  as  the  fact  became  known  of  the 
captivity  of  the  maidens,  a  hot  pursuit  was  made  by 
such  as  could  by  any  possibility  leave  their  house- 
holds. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  following  afternoon  two 
young  men  were  seated  upon  a  little  knoll  amidst  a 
dense  forest.  They  were  fine,  hardy-looking  fellows, 
with  well  knit  joints  and  brawny  muscles,  evidently 
inured  to  the  toils  and  hardships  of  a  new  country. 
They  were  armed  with  muskets,  and  each  wore  a 
hunting-knife  in  his  belt,  their  dress  and  equipments 
showing  that  they  were  out  on  no  common  errand. 
They  had  started  with  others  after  the  savages,  but 
their  eagerness  and  activity  had  led  them  far  in  ad- 
vance of  their  companions. 

At  the  time  we  have  introduced  them  to  the  reader 
they  had  come  to  a  halt,  after  a  fatiguing  and  vain 
search  for  the  trail  of  the  enemy.  They  had  kindled 
a  fire  for  the  purpose  of  cooking  the  evening  meal, 
and  had  been  for  a  time  resting  on  the  small  knoll, 
consulting  in  regard  to  their  future  movements,  when 
a  slight  rustling  in  the  woods  attracted  their  attention 
and  caused  them  to  spring  to  their  feet  in  a  hostile 
attitude. 

They  had  barely  time  to  assume  a  defensive  posi- 
tion, when,  from  a  clump  of  bushes  near  which  they 
had  kindled  the  fire,  and  which  was  sending  up  thick 
curls  of  smoke,  the  tall  form  of  a  man  dressed  in 
the  garb  of  a  hunter  suddenly  emerged.  Scarcely 
glancing  at  the  startled  young  men,  he  hastily  strode 


THE   SCOUT.  IttO 

toward  the  burning  pile,  and  in  a  moment  tlie  smoking 
embers  were  trampled  beneath  his  feet. 

^^  What  on  'arth  possessed  you  ?  are  you  stark,  star- 
ing mad,  youngsters?"  exclaimed  the  intruder,  as  he 
ground  the  last  expiring  ember  beneath  his  heel. 

^'Why,  Joe,  what  are  you  about?  you  have  spoilt 
our  supper,"  said  one  of  the  party,  stepping  forward. 

'^  And  saved  your  scalp,  mayhap,  young  man !  " 
returned  the  hunter,  whom  our  readers  will  recognize 
as  the  Scout. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  the  first  speaker,  not  rehshing 
the  idea  of  losing  his  evening  meal,  ^^  how  the  fire 
you  have  so  unceremoniously  extinguished  was  to 
endanger  us." 

"  That 's  all  owing  to  your  ignorance,  Jim  Smith. 
When  you  Ve  lived  in  the  woods  as  long  as  I  have, 
you  will  have  Parnt  something,  boy,  that  you  don't 
find  in  the  books." 

"But  what  harm  could  the  fire  do?"  asked  Smith, in 
a  more  conciliatory  tone. 

"The  fire  is  harmless,  youngster:  'tis  the  smoke 
that  might  play  the  mischief" 

"  I  cannot  perceive  how,"  rejoined  the  young  man, 
inquiringly. 

"  That 's  'cause  you  don't  know.  Why  don't  you 
shout  aloud?  why  don't  you  discharge  your  rifle  in 
the  air?     Tell  me  that." 

"  That  would  be  madness  indeed,  surrounded  as  we 
are  by  the  Indians." 

"Do  you  think,  boy,  the  red-skins  hain't  eyes  as  well 
as  ears  ?  Look  up,  youngster  ;  don't  you  think  that 
that  smoke-wreath  whiffling  over  the  top  of  yonder 
pine  is  as  good  a  signal  as  the  crack  of  a  rifle  ?     I 


150  FOREST   A2sD   SHORE. 

saw  it  a  mile  off,  and  there  are  sharper  eyes  prying 
about  the  woods  than  mine,  I  consate." 

The  truth  at  once  flashed  upon  the  minds  of  the 
young  men.  They  saw  their  folly,  and  the  superior 
wisdom  of  the  new-comer. 

"  You  are  right,  Scout,"  remarked  the  other  and 
elder  of  the  party ;  '^  it  was  blind  in  us ;  but  it  has 
served  us  one  good  turn,  in  directing  your  steps 
hither.'' 

'^  I  was  on  your  trail,  youngsters,  and  should  have 
found  you  out  sooner  or  later.  But  this  is  no  place 
to  waste  our  time  in.  There  may  be  others  directed 
here  whose  company  might  not  be  quite  so  welcome 
as  mine.  Shoulder  your  traps,  my  young  friends,  and 
be  off.  Here,  step  lightly  along  this  trunk  until  you 
reach  the  ledge  of  rocks  yonder;  don't  turn  so  much 
as  a  leaf,  if  you  can  help  it ;  and  mind  and  keep  the 
sun  over  your  right  shoulder  as  you  go  along." 

"Are  you  not  going  with  us,  Joe?"  remarked 
Smith,  as  he  prepared  to  obey  the  directions. 

^'  Sartainly,  sartainly ;  what  am  I  here  for  ?  I  shall 
overtake  you  before  night  closes  in;  but  I  want  to 
leave  a  trail  in  another  direction,  to  draw  off  the  sar- 
pents,  if  so  be  they  should  come  here.  Keep  along 
the  rocks  and  ledges  as  much  as  you  can,  and  mind 
and  keep  your  tongues  still.  'T  is  a  bad  member,  and 
breeds  a  deal  of  mischief,  in  the  woods  as  in  the 
world ! " 

So  saying,  the  Scout  moved  off  in  a  contrary  direc- 
tion, leaving  a  well-defined  trail  behind  him. 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  young  men  that  they  had 
been  overtaken  by  the  Scout,  for,  as  we  have  said, 
their  search  in  discovering  the  direct  route  of  the 


THE  SCOUT.  151 

savages  had  been  vain.  As  it  happened,  however, 
they  had  not  deviated  far  from*  the  course  the  enemy 
had  taken.  Before  meeting  with  the  Scout,  they  had 
been  consulting  about  giving  up  the  pursuit  and  re- 
turning home,  but  his  presence  gave  them  fresh  ardor, 
and  they  now  avowed  their  determination  to  continue 
on  until  they  had  rescued  the  captives  or  wreaked 
their  vengeance  on  the  captors. 

Following  the  directions  given,  they  proceeded  on 
their  way,  passing  silently  and  cautiously  along,  keep- 
ing the  sun  on  their  right  cheek  until  it  had  disap- 
peared from  sight,  and  the  woods  began  to  grow  dim 
in  the  coming  shadows  of  night,  when  they  came  to  a 
halt,  anxiously  awaiting  the  re-appearance  of  their 
sagacious  leader.  The  wary  movements  of  the  Scout 
had  impressed  them  more  thoroughly  with  the  danger 
that  surrounded  them,  and  rendered  them  doubly 
watchful.  Keeping  their  weapons  in  readiness  for  im- 
mediate use,  they  scrutinized  every  thicket  and  rising 
knoll,  fearful  that  they  might  conceal  a  foe,  while 
every  sound  was  listened  to  with  breathless  attention, 
as  giving  warning  of  the  approaching  savage. 

There  was  no  lack  of  courage  betrayed  by  either 
of  the  young  men ;  they  were  naturally  brave  and  res- 
olute, and  would  have  met  an  open  foe  without  shrink- 
ing. It  was  the  sense  of  a  hidden,  unknown  danger 
impending,  which  aroused  their  apprehension.  The 
fast  increasing  darkness,  the  gathering  gloom  of  the 
forest,  heightened  by  the  low,  melancholy  moan  of 
the  pines,  with  the  occasional  crashing  of  the  fallen 
branches,  caused  probably  by  the  passage  of  some 
denizen  of  the  wilderness,  frequently  thrilled  their 
hearts  with  a  vague  sense  of  fear,  and  made  them  long 


152  FOREST  AXD   SHORE. 

for  the  presence  of  one  whose  sagacity  and  expe- 
rience was  to  them  an  assurance  of  safety. 

As  the  dusk  of  twilight  deepened  into  the  darkness 
of  night,  and  objects  at  a  little  distance  one  after 
another  disappeared  from  sight,  they  began  to  fear 
that  the  Scout  would  be  unable  to  find  them  in  the 
labyrinth  of  the  forest.  This  conviction  gi'owing 
every  moment  more  strong,  they  thought  it  time  to 
make  some  disposition  for  passing  the  night  in  com- 
fort and  safety.  As  they  were  moving  about  for  this 
purpose,  they  were  alarmed  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  a  man  in  their  vicinity,  whose  noiseless  approach, 
coming  ghost-like  from  the  obscurity  of  the  wilder- 
ness, induced  them  to  spring  simultaneously  to  where 
they  had  deposited  their  arms,  in  the  full  expectation 
of  having  to  grapple  with  a  deadly  enemy.  The  long- 
rifle  and  gaunt  figure,  which  a  second  glance  enabled 
them  to  recognize,  as  quickly  undeceived  them,  and 
hearty  was  the  welcome  with  which  they  greeted  their 
ally. 

'^  We  were  afraid  you  had  missed  us,^^  said  one  of 
the  young  men,  "  and  were  about  preparing  a  place 
for  rest." 

"  Whist !  whist !  speak  low,"  said  the  Scout,  in  a 
subdued  voice.  "'Tis  an  hour  when  sound  travels  fast 
and  far,  and  there  may  be  those  within  earshot,  —  ha ! 
look  to  your  arms,  youngsters ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
more  energetic  tone,  without  raising  his  voice,  at  the 
same  time  kneeling  behind  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree. 

The  cause  of  the  alarm  was  a  sudden  rustling  and 
crackling  of  dry  leaves  in  the  distance,  as  by  the 
approach  of  some  one.  The  young  men  followed  the 
example  of  their  leader,  crouching  beside  him,  ready 


THE   SCOUT.  153 

for  action.  The  noise  grew  louder  and  louder  as  the 
disturber  drew  near,  which  apparently  broke  through 
the  bushes  and  underbrush  violently,  and  with  no 
attempt  at  concealment. 

"  ^T  is  some  pesky  varmint,"  whispered  the  old  man. 
"  The  red-skins  are  too  cunning  to  make  such  a  rumpus 
as  this.  I  've  seen  'em  at  all  times,"  he  continued, 
suffering  his  rifle  to  rest  carelessly  on  the  tree,  as  if 
satisfied  that  no  danger  was  to  be  apprehended ;  "  I  Ve 
been  with  'em  in  peace  and  in  war,  when  their  blood 
was  up  and  when  cool,  anrd  they  're  always  the  same, 
creeping  along  with  the  same  desateful,  sarpent-hke 
motion.  They  're  wary  critturs,  and  dreadful  loath  to 
leave  a  trail  even  for  friends  to  follow.  Hist !  there 
it  comes.  'Tis  a  she  panther,  about  the  wickedest 
thing  to  be  found  in  the  woods,  of  the  four-footed 
kind."      - 

As  the  Scout  spoke,  one  of  those  formidable  ani- 
mals, a  huge  panther,  with  eyes  glaring  like  balls  of 
fire,  passed  by  an  opening  a  short  distance  on  their 
right,  on  a  half-trot,  half-leap,  crashing  through  the 
obstacles  in  its  path,  as  if  they  offered  no  impediment 
to  its  speed. 

"  If  't  wan't  for  the  enemy  I  'd  stop  the  tarnal  crit- 
tur's  frisking,"  said  the  Scout,  gazing  in  the  direction 
it  had  taken,  "  for  I  owe  'em  a  grudge.  They  've  no 
more  marcy  than  a  red-skin,  and  I  shall  carry  the 
marks  of  their  claws  to  my  grave,  if  so  be  I  find 
one." 

"Have  you  any  doubts  in  regard  to  that.  Scout?  " 
asked  one  of  his  companions. 

"  Sartainl}  I  have,  boy.  Where  the  tree  grows, 
there  it  falls  and  rots ;  and  so  it  is  with  most  people 


151  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

burrowed  iu  towns;  there  they  are  rooted  and  die, 
and  the  churchyard  grows  fat.  But  when  a  marciful 
Providence  sees  fit  to  call  me,  there  's  no  saying  where 
I  may  be  found.  I  Ve  a  strange  liking  for  the  woods, 
and  I  should  wash  to  rest  in  their  solitude,  with  the 
thick  boughs  waving  their  green  arms  over  me,  and 
the  leaves  rustling  and  playing  near.  It  would  seem 
more  nat'ral  like.  I  do  not  hate  my  kind,  the  Lord 
above  knows  that;  but  I  have  always  fancied  being 
alone,  on  the  chase  or  trail,  and  when  I  die,  if  so  be  it 
is  his  will,  I  would  rather  my  dust  should  not  mingle 
with  the  churchyard  folks'.  But  this  is  a  subject  to  be 
thought  of  in  secret,  and  not  babbled  idly  about.  It 
is  time  we  should  be  thinking  of  sleep.  My  mind 
misgives  me  that  we  have  a  long  trail  before  us,  and 
we  must  be  astir  'arly." 

So  saying,  the  three  disposed  of  themselves  for  the 
night,  taking  care  effectually  to  guard  against  a  sur- 
prise, either  from  the  prowling  beast  of  the  forest  or 
the  lurking  savage. 


CHAPTER    X. 

By  the  first  glimmer  of  day  the  old  Scout  was  on 
the  move.  Without  disturbing  his  still  sleeping  com- 
panions, he  glanced  cautiously  around  him,  shook  the 
old  priming  from  his  rifle  and  reprimed  it,  inspecting 
carefully  the  lock  and  barrel,  eyeing  and  fondling  it  as 
if  it  were  a  thing  to  return  his  affection,  after  which 
he  glided  stealthily  into  the  surrounding  forest. 

An  hour,  perhaps,  passed  away,  during  w^hich  the 


THE   SCOUT.  155 

young  men  had  got  astir,  and  were  wondering  at  the 
disappearance  of  their  guide,  when  he  returned,  and, 
in  a  cheerful  tone,  exclaimed, — 

^'  Wal,  I  've  got  a  track  of  the  varmints !  Come, 
boys,  we  Ve  no  time  to  lose  :  we  '11  eat  as  we  go  along. 
There's  a  fine  spring — God's  blessing  in  the  wilder- 
ness — just  out  yonder,  which  will  sarve  to  wash  down 
the  dry  bread  and  meat."  And,  leading  the  way,  he 
branched  suddenly  off  from  the  course  they  had  been 
pursuing,  until,  after  half  an  hour's  rapid  traveUing, 
they  struck,  as  the  Scout  said,  the  trail,  when  they 
again  changed  the  direction  of  their  route. 

To  the  young  men  the  course  they  were  now  pur- 
suing was  quite  as  blind  as  ever.  A  dense  w^ilderness 
surrounded  them,  and,  though  they  followed  their 
leader  with  an  undoubted  confidence  in  his  knowledge, 
they  saw  nothing  in  the  appearance  of  things  which 
afi*orded  the  least  clue  to  the  direction  to  be  followed. 
After  a  while,  one  of  them  remarked,  inquiringly,  that 
he  could  detect  no  signs  of  a  traih 

"  Why,  youngster,"  replied  the  Scout,  "  't  is  as  plain 
as  dame  Rawson's  face,  and  that  I  consate  is  the  plain- 
est thing  in  the  settlement.  Here,  my  boys,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  stopped  in  his  rapid  walk,  "  may  be  you 
can  I'arn  something  that  will  be  sarviceable  to  you 
hereafter.  Look  about  you  now,  look  close  and 
sharp,  and  see  if  you  cannot  find  out  the  trail." 

The  young  men  stepped  forward  and  examined 
carefully  every  inch  of  the  place,  scrutinizing  closely 
the  bushes  and  fallen  leaves,  but  all  to  no  purpose ; 
and  they  acknowledged  that  they  saw  nothing  to  de- 
note the  track  of  the  savages.  The  Scout  gave  a  low 
chuckle,  evidently  pleased  at  their  failure. 


150  FOIIEST   AND    SHORE. 

"  Wal,  wal,  't  is  unaccountable  what  ignorance  there 
is  in  the  world.  But  man  's  never  too  old  to  Tarn,  they 
say.  Here  you,  Hugh  Sands,  step  this  way  a  little ; 
now  stoop  down  and  obsarve  these  leaves.  Don't  you 
see  how  this  one  is  pressed  down  flat  to  the  ^arth,  and 
that  one  is  bent  over  and  broken,  and  all  along,  just 
the  length  of  a  man's  foot,  they  don't  look  like  these 
out  here,  which  lay  nat'ral  like,  just  as  they  fell  from 
the  tree,  one  on  top  t'other,  carelessly?  Now  run 
your  eye  along  about  a  step  and  you  will  diskiver  the 
same  appearance.  There  you  see  the  grass  is  slightly 
bent  forward,  while  the  other  stands  up  straight. 
Then,  ag'in,  obsarve  these  bushes,  this  broken  twig 
and  that  turned  leaf:  ain't  it  clear  enough  that  some- 
thing has  brushed  by  them?  These  signs  you  can 
barely  dis'arn,  but  I  can  read  them  as  easily  as  I  can 
your  dad's  grocery  sign  in  the  settlement,  'specially 
now  while  the  dew  is  on." 

"And  here  is  something  plainer  still,"  said  Smith, 
who  had  gone  a  little  ahead,  and  who  now  returned, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  comb,  dropped  either  accidentally 
or  designedly  by  one  of  the  captives. 

Their  guide  needed  not  this  assurance  that  he  was 
on  the  right  course,  although  the  discovery  seemed  to 
animate  his  companions,  who  now  pressed  forward 
with  renewed  vigor. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  third  day,  and  many  a 
weary  mile  had  the  three  passed  over,  following  like 
hounds  the  tracks  of  the  savages,  that  we  again  intro- 
duce our  party  to  the  reader.  They  had  halted  on  the 
bank  of  a  shallow  river,  the  outlet  of  a  large  pond, 
which  spread  out  before  them,  fringed  on  either  hand 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  with  a  luxurious  growth 


THE   SCOUT.  157 

of  bush  and  tree,  the  foliage  of  which  bent  over  and 
coquetted  with  the  crystal  waters,  seeming,  in  their 
placid  repose,  like  a  vast  mirror  framed  with  living 
green.  From  the  signs  around  them  they  were  con- 
vinced that  they  were  in  the  close  vicinity  of  the 
enemy. 

After  a  short  consultation,  the  Scout  went  forward 
to  reconnoitre,  leaving  his  companions  in  the  dense 
woods  which  skirted  the  stream.  Creeping  along  the 
edge  of  the  forest,  for  he  strongly  suspected  that  the 
foe  were  on  the  opposite  bank,  the  old  man  proceeded 
some  way  down  the  river,  until  the  fast-fading  twilight 
gave  way  to  the  duskiness  of  night.  Feeling  secure 
from  observation,  he  then  cautiously  forded  the  stream, 
and,  plunging  into  the  opposite  woods,  directed  his 
way  to  the  outlet  of  the  pond. 

In  the  mean  time  the  young  men  remained  in  their 
covert,  waiting  impatiently  to  learn  the  result  of  the 
Scout's  movements.  The  thought  that  they  were  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  a  crafty  and  cruel  foe, 
and  that  they  might  be  shortly  engaged  with  them  in 
deadly  conflict,  was  fraught  with  exciting  interest. 
Their  anxiety  was  not  wholly  unmixed  with  fear. 
They  knew  not  the  force  of  the  band  they  were  seek- 
ing, while  their  own  weakness  made  their  pursuit  seem 
to  them  like  temerity. 

What  if  the  Scout  should  fall?  With  their  total 
ignorance  of  their  course,  and  surrounded  by  an  un- 
sparing enemy,  a  sure  death  was  in  prospect.  Still, 
they  were  not  disheartened,  and  their  resolve  to  rescue 
the  captives  at  all  hazards  remained  unshaken. 

Two  hours  or  more  passed  slowly  by,  and  they  sat 
in  silence  and  darkness,  the  thick  foliage  shutting  out 
14 


105  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

the  light  of  the  stars,  and  the  dirge-hke  moan  of  the 
jjines  sounding  mournfully  in  their  ears,  all  tending 
to  throw  a  deeper  shade  of  gloom  over  their  spirits. 
For  some  time  they  had  thus  sat,  each  busy  with  his 
own  fancies,  without  a  word  being  spoken  between 
them.  At  last,  in  the  far  distance,  the  faint  cry  of  a 
night-owl  came  from  the  opposite  bank,  causing  them 
to  start  to  their  feet  in  a  listening  attitude.  After  a 
prolonged  interval  the  same  boding  cry  was  repeated. 

"  That 's  the  Scout's  signal,"  said  Sands,  in  a  low, 
hurried  whisper.  "  We  must  be  on  our  guard.  He 
has  found  them." 

"  Pray  Heaven  they  may  not  detect  him,"  said  Smith, 
in  a  somewhat  anxious  tone. 

"  There  is  not  much  danger ;  the  old  fellow  knows 
all  their  ways  and  is  possessed  of  all  their  cunning. 
He  will  be  here  soon,  and  then  comes  the  final  tug." 

According  to  previous  directions,  the  young  men 
now  crept  noiselessly  down  to  the  river's  brink,  which 
went  brawling  on  its  way,  the  white  foam  flashing  out 
occasionally  as  it  broke  over  the  rocky  shallows,  then 
darting  along  a  smoother  current,  until  it  was  lost  in 
the  gloom  of  the  forest,  into  which  the  dark  stream 
glided  like  some  huge  serpent  seeking  a  covert. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

As  the  young  men  stood  side  by  side,  gazing 
thoughtfully  on  the  rippling  stream,  a  hand  was  laid 
on  the  shoulder  of  each,  and  a  low  voice  whispered  in 
their  ears,  — 


THE  SCOUT.  159 

'^  Hush  !  not  a  word.     They  are  there.     Follow  me." 

Turning,  they  followed  the  Scout,  who  crept  softly 
up  the  stream  until  they  reached  the  outlet  of  the 
pond,  when,  stealing  round  a  jutting  crag  which  effec- 
tually concealed  them  from  the  opposite  shore,  they 
halted,  and,  in  a  subdued  tone,  the  Scout  related  his 
discoveries.  "  I  have  been  among  the  sarpents,  and,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  gals'  safety,  I  would  have  crushed 
one -of  the  reptiles,  for  I  had  him  at  my  marcy.  It  was 
a  sore  temptation,  I  tell  ye.  There  are  but  five  of  them ; 
the  rest  have  not  arrived,  or  have  gone  off  on  some 
other  diviltry.  I  saw  the  gals,  too,  and  they  seemed 
to  be  in  pretty  good  case.  Ah  !  that  Kate  is  a  bright 
one." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  her  ?  "  asked  Sands,  with  a  feel- 
ing and  tone  of  deep  interest. 

'^  Speak  to  her  !  that  would  have  been  no  easy  mat- 
ter, youngster,  with  two  of  the  varmints  within  ear- 
shot. No,  no.  Hunting  Joe  is  not  a  gossiping  old 
woman ;  he  is  too  old  to  run  his  head  into  such  a 
trap." 

"  But  you  contrived  to  let  her  know  that  friends 
were  at  hand,"  rejoined  Smith. 

"  Speak  low,  boy ;  the  red-skins  have  quick  ears,  and 
sound  travels  pesky  far  and  fast  in  a  still  night  like 
this.  ^  Deaf  in  the  world  and  dumb  in  the  woods,'  is  a 
maxim  I  I'arnt  'arly  in  life.  Yes,  I  let  'em  know  that 
the  old  Scout  was  on  their  trail." 

"How  did  you  manage  it?"  asked  Smith. 

'^  Wal,  if  you  must  know,  and  as  we  have  a  little  time 
to  spare,  I  '11  tell  ye."  He  then  went  on  to  state  that, 
after  creeping  through  the  woods,  and  finding  out  that 
the  Indians  were  there,  and  the  position  of  the  cap- 


160  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

tives,  be  stole  round  to  a  clump  of  bushes  directly 
bebind  a  small  knoll  on  wbicb  tbey  were  seated. 
"  Wben  I  got  there,"  said  be,  "  I  was  within  a  few 
feet  of  them ;  but  't  was  a  dangerous  job  to  attract 
their  attention,  for  I  could  see  the  dark  reptiles  coiled 
round  in  the  open  space  in  front,  ready  for  a  spring. 
The  shaking  of  a  limb  or  the  snapping  of  a  twig  would 
have  aroused  them.  I  had  the  comb  you  found  with 
me,  and,  by  a  slight  throw,  I  tossed  it  into  Kate's  lap. 
It  struck  the  girl's  hand,  and  I  expected  her  surprise 
would  give  the  alarm ;  but,  except  a  slight  start,  she 
showed  not  the  least  consarn.  Bending  down  her 
head,  she  whispered  a  word  or  two  to  her  sister,  and 
then  secretly  made  a  sign,  giving  me  to  understand 
that  all  was  right.  Ah,  she  is  a  quick-witted  crittur, 
that  gal,"  added  the  Scout,  in  conclusion,  "and  I  'II 
save  her,  if  I  die  for  't." 

"  Well,  what  plan  have  you  fixed  upon  2  "  asked  one 
of  the  young  men,  as  he  concluded  his  narration. 

The  old  man  remained  silent  for  a  while,  as  if  re- 
volving the  matter  in  his  mind. 

"  It  is  a  resky  business,  but  I  don't  see  as  we  can 
do  better,"  he  at  last  said,,  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 
'^  If  you  were  as  well  acquainted  with  the  woods  as 
I  am,"  he  continued,  addressing  his  companions,  "  we 
might  creep  among  the  enemy  and  take  them  by  sur- 
prise, for  they  seem  to  be  unsuspicious  of  an  attack. 
But  there  's  too  much  at  stake,  for,  if  they  should  be 
alarmed,  the  gals  would  be  tomahawked  to  a  dead  sar- 
tainty.  It  is  my  opinion  that  they  will  stay  where  they 
be  to-night,  and  start  'arLy  in  the  morning  up  the 
lake,  as  I  detected  three  canoes  hid  among  the  bushes. 
Now,  what  I  think  on  is  this,  to  get  possession  of  their 


THE   SCOL'T.  IGl 

canoeS;  destroy  one,  let  you  liave  tlie  second  to  bring 
off  the  young  women  in,  and  I  will  take  the  other,  to 
act  as  sarcumstances  may  turn  up." 

'^  When  shall  we  start  ?  "  asked  Sands. 

"  It 's  about  time  to  be  moving,  I  s'pose,"  said  the 
Scout.  "  The  moon  will  be  up  in  two  or  three  hours, 
and  we  must  get  them  out  of  their  clutches  before 
then." 

So  saying,  he  commenced  stripping  off  his  garments, 
adding,  "  To  save  a  long  tramp,  I  must  take  to  the 
water.  You  will  stay  here  till  I  come  back.  Don't 
move  about,  and,  if  you  must  talk,  speak  in  whispers, 
for  the  slightest  noise  might  betray  us." 

With  this  caution,  having  laid  aside  his  garments,  he 
entered  the  water,  and  in  a  moment  was  lost  to  sight, 
as  he  swam  rapidly  but  noiselessly  away,  leaving 
scarcely  a  ripple  in  his  wake. 

The  distance  to  the  opposite  shore  was  perhaps  an 
eighth  of  a  mile.  With  long,  slow  strokes  the  Scout 
urged  his  way  through  the  placid  waters,  his  head  laid 
to  the  surface,  at  times  floating  motionless,  while  his 
searching  glance  and  quick  ear  were  on  the  alert ;  then 
propelling  himself  along  with  renewed  caution,  until 
he  approached  the  opposite  bank,  which  rose  some- 
what abruptly,  covered  with  a  dense  growth  of  tall 
bushes.  GHding  into  their  deep  shadows,  he  soon 
found  the  objects  of  his  search. 

It  required  all  the  cunning  and  adroitness  he  was 
master  of,  after  he  had  reached  his  prizes,  to  launch 
them  in  the  water,  fasten  them  together,  and  tow  them 
from  the  dangerous  neighborhood.  Having  got  them 
afloat,  he  fastened  them  in  a  line,  and  hugging  the  deep 
shadows  cast  by  the  overhanging  foliage,  he  went 
14^ 


162  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

some  distance  up  before  he  shot  out  into  the  bosom 
of  the  lake.  Dipping  his  paddle  so  as  not  to  disturb 
the  quiet  of  the^  water,  and  crouching  low  in  the 
canoe,  he  finally  succeeded  in  transferring  his  prizes 
in  safety  to  the  spot  where  his  young  partisans  were 
anxiously  awaiting  the  issue  of  the  adventure. 

"  Privateersmen  talk  of  cutting  out  craft  from  un- 
der the  guns  of  an  enemy,"  said  the  Scout,  in  a  jocose 
tone,  as  he  deliberately  ran  his  knife  through  the  frail 
material  of  one  of  his  prizes,  which  he  had  taken  on 
shore,  gashing  large  holes  in  various  parts  of  its  bot- 
tom :  "  can  they  boast  of  a  better  cutting  out  than 
this  ?  "  and  he  gave  the  finishing  stroke  to  his  work 
of  destruction. 

"  Now,  boys,''  he  added,  "  see  to  your  primings. 
Shake  out  the  old  ones,  for  the  doAvs  may  have  damp- 
ened the  powder,  and  a  flash  in  the  pan  may  prove 
your  death." 

Having  made  every  necessary  arrangement  in  re- 
gard to  their  proceedings,  the  arms  were  deposited  in 
the  canoes,  ready  for  use  at  a  moment's  warning,  and 
they  embarked,  the  Scout  taking  the  lead. 

"  Follow  me,"  said  he,  "  and  be  careful  of  your  pad- 
dles when  you  cross  the  pond.  For  the  present  we 
must  drag  ourselves  along  a  piece  under  the  shelter 
of  these  bushes.  Don't  hurry;  move  coolly  and  de- 
liberately, and  when  you  let  go  the  branches,  mind 
and  not  let  them  jerk  back,  but  slip  gently  out  of  your 
hands."  * 

With  these  whispered  cautions  the  Scout  forced  his 
canoe  close  in  with  the  bushes,  dragging  it  carefully 
along,  and  followed  by  the  young  men,  who  were 
admonished  from  time  to  time,  by  expressive  signals 


THE   SCOUT.  1G3 

to  be  on  tlieir  guard.  For  a  long  distance  they  pro- 
ceeded in  this  manner,  and  so  adroitly  did  the  old 
man  make  his  way  that  scarcely  the  motion  of  a  twig 
or  the  rustling  of  a  leaf  betrayed  his  movements. 

When  he  had  at  last  reached  what  he  considered  a 
safe  distance,  he  struck  out  into  the  lake  with  his  pad- 
dle, and  ere  long,  with  his  companions,  reached  the 
shelter  of  the  foliage  of  the  opposite  side.  Abandon- 
ing the  paddles,  they  adopted  the  same  method  as  at 
first,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  pendent  branches  and  the 
long  grass,  which  in  the  occasional  openings  grew 
luxuriantly  to  the  water's  edge,  they  forced  their  light 
barks  along. 

At  one  of  these  openings,  where  the  land  sloped 
gradually  to  the  lake,  and  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
outlet,  they  stopped,  and  a  brief  consultation  ensued. 

"  You  will  remain  here,"  said  the  Scout  to  Smith, 
'^  while  your  companion  will  go  part  of  the  way  with 
me  to  lead  the  gals  to  the  place.  When  you  get  them 
on  board,  don't  be  flustrated.  Bid  them  sit  still,  for 
these  bark  things  are  ticklish  consarns;  and  when 
you  get  all  ready,  drag  yourselves  along  as  you  came, 
until  I  come  up  with  you.  But,  if  I  am  long  delayed, 
hide  yourselves  under  that  clump  of  young  alders 
which  I  pointed  out  to  you  as  we  came  along.  The 
trailing  branches  will  shelter  you  completely  from 
sight.  Have  your  thoughts  about  you,  youngsters. 
I  like  your  actions,  —  you  Ve  behaved  well  thus  far, 
sartainly.  Don't  spoil  all  now  at  fhe  tug  of  the  game; 
be  cool,  be  cool  I  '^  And  with  this  repeated  warning, 
he  stepped  on  shore,  dragging  his  canoe  into  the 
grass,  and  then  moved  stealthily  towards  the  foe,  fol- 
lowed by  Sands,  who  accompanied  him  a  short  dis- 


164  FOHEST   AND   SHORE. 

tance,  to  tlie  edge  of  a  slight  opening,  where  he 
beckoned  him  to  stop,  while  he  glided  with  a  noise- 
less step  into  the  open  space,  and  disappeared  behind 
a  thick  groAvth  of  bushes. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

The  Indians  had  halted  in  a  small  opening  in  the 
forest,  close  by  the  outlet.  In  the  full  confidence  that 
all  danger  from  pursuit  was  over,  they  had  relaxed 
from  their  usual  watchfulness  over  their  prisoners, 
and,  instead  of  keeping  them  by  their  sides,  as  they 
had  heretofore  when  they  slept,  they  had  allowed 
them  to  sit  apart ;  taking  the  precaution,  however,  to 
bind  their  ankles  with  thongs.  In  the  early  part  of 
the  niglit  the  sisters,  as  if  worn  out  with  fatigue,  had 
feigned  deep  slumber.  Indeed,  the  distance  they  had 
travelled,  and  the  almost  constant  watchfulness  of  the 
preceding  nights,  rendered  rest  absolutely  necessary 
to  their  Avorn  frames.  But  the  intimation  they  had 
received  of  friends  lurking  near  aroused  them.  To 
lull  all  suspicion,  however,  they  thought  it  best  to 
counterfeit  sleep;  and  so  satisfied  were  their  captors 
of  its  reality,  and  that  it  would  remain  unbroken,  and 
so  confident  that  they  were  entirely  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  whites,  they  yielded  themselves  unreservedly 
to  that  repose  which,  from  what  they  had  lately  under- 
gone, nature  imperiously  demanded. 

On  a  little  mossy  knoll,  wholly  unsheltered  from 
tlie  heavy  dews,  the  captives  had  thrown  themselves, 
their  deep,  regular  breathing  betokening  that  their 


THE  SCOUT.  1G5 

senses  were  locked  in  tlie  deepest  slumber,  and  that 
they  were  totally  oblivious  to  the  scene  around  them ; 
and  yet  there  was  not  the  fall  of  a  leaf,  the  snapping 
of  a  twig,  the  faint  chirp  of  a  half-aroused  bird,  the 
low  sighing  of  a  passing  breeze  rustling  in  the  tree- 
tops, — not  one  of  the  many  sounds  that  disturb  the 
silence  of  night  in  a  forest, —  that  was  not  beard  by 
those  apparently  unconscious  sleepers. 

Since  the  early  evening,  when  the  Scout  had  ap- 
prized them  of  the  presence  of  a  friend,  their  bosoms 
had  throbbed  with  contending  emotions,  hope. and  fear 
alternately  predominating.  As  the  night  wore  away, 
and  no  further  signs  of  rescue  appearing,  their  anxi- 
ety increased.  More  than  once  was  the  head  of 
Catharine,  the  eldest,  lifted  from  its  mossy  pillow, 
while  she  cast  furtive  glances  around,  and  eagerly  lis- 
tened to  catch  some  sign  of  dehverance.  Who  they 
were  that  had  dogged  them  to  this  place  she  knew 
not,  but  her  heart  told  her  that  one  at  least  of  the 
party  was  her  cousin.  Sands,  while  Anna,  the  younger, 
as  naturally  believed  that  young  Smith  was  among 
them. 

While  they  were  thus  waiting  in  anxious  solicitude, 
counting  the  moments  by  the  beating  of  their  own 
hearts,  and  almost  despairing  of  an  attempt  being 
made  that  night,  a  faint  sound  in  the  bushes  behind 
them  reached  their  ears,  causing  them  simultaneously 
to  hold  their  breath  as  they  listened  eagerly  for  its 
repetition.  All,  however,  remained  as  still  as  before, 
and  they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  their  ears  de- 
ceived them. 

"I   certainly  thought  I   heard   something,  Anna/' 


IGG  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

whispered  the  elder,  placing  her  mouth  close  to  her 
sister's  ear. 

"  So  did  I/'  added  her  companion,  in  a  tremulous 
tone. 

"  Listen  again,  dear  Anna " 

"  Hist !  "  came  a  low  warning  at  the  speaker's  ear, 
interrupting  her.  "  Be  silent  as  death;  do  not  move  ; 
you  have  friends  at  hand  !  " 

"  Be  calm,  Anna,"  whispered  Catharine  in  a  joyful 
tone  to  her  startled  sister ;  "it  is  Hunting  Joe  ;  I  know 
his  voice.     We  are  safe  !  " 

Even  as  she  spoke  the  tall  form  of  the  Scout  rose 
in  front  of  the  bush  behind  them,  just  discernible  in 
the  gloom  of  night.  Making  a  sign  of  silence,  he 
stooped  down  and  cut  the  thongs  that  bound  them, 
and  then  whispered,  "  On  your  lives,  gals,  be  wary ! 
Raise  yourselves  —  hush  !  hush  !  "  he  hastily  added, 
"  don't  stir,  nor  breathe  !  " 

The  caution  thus  suddenly  given  was  occasioned 
by  the  movement  of  one  of  the  savages,  a  rod,  per- 
haps, in  front,  who  turned  heavily  on  his  leafy  couch, 
muttering  rapidly  the  unintelligible  jargon  of  his  tribe. 
For  a  moment  the  three  remained  breathlessly  lis- 
tening. 

"  The  varmint  is  only  dreaming,"  at  length  said  the 
Scout,  in  a  tone  of  relief.    "  Now  up  and  follow  me.'^ 

The  captives  did  as  they  were  bid,  moving  with  the 
greatest  caution,  until  they  reached  the  narrow  pas- 
sage in  the  bushes  which  led  from  the  opening,  when 
the  Scout  stopped,  but  motioned  them  forward. 

"  I  must  stay  here,"  he  whispered  to  them,  as  they 
crept  by  him,  "  to  guard  your  retreat  ]  you  will  find  a 
friend  close  at  hand.     Bid  him  be  careful,  and  remem- 


THE   SCOUT.  1C7 

ber  that  you  are   treading  among  sleeping  adders  ; 
if  you  arouse  them,  it  is  death ! " 

The  two  maidens  nodded  assent,  and,  passing  on, 
soon  cleared  the  clump  of  bushes,  when  a  well-known 
voice,  recognized,  though  barely  audible,  greeted 
Kate,  and  a  well-known  hand  grasped  hers,  and  guided 
them  along  the  mazy  wilderness  to  the  canoe,  in  which 
they  hastily  seated  themselves.  Hardly  had  the  trem- 
bling girls  embarked  in  the  frail  vessel,  and  ere  the 
young  men,  who  followed  the  counsel  of  the  Scout  by 
acting  coolly  and  deliberately,  had  got  fairly  arranged 
for  a  start,  they  were  alarmed  by  hearing,  from  the 
direction  whence  they  had  come,  the  expressive  excla 
mation  used  by  the  red  man  when  suddenly  surprised, 
followed  by  a  shrill  whoop  Avhich  rang  wildly  through 
the  forest.  Grasping  the  pendent  branches,  the  young 
men  drew  the  canoe  swiftly  along,  scarcely  breathing 
until  they  had  left  the  dangerous  spot  far  behind. 
Their  exertions  were  still  further  stimulated  by  soon 
hearing  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle,  followed  by  a  yell 
so  wild  and  unearthly  that  the  blood  of  the  fugitives 
chilled  as  it  swelled  on  the  ear. 

"  It  was  the  Scout's  rifle,"  said  Sands,  in  a  panting 
voice;  "one  of  the  savages  has  bit  the  dust  I"  and 
with  an  extra  efi*ort  he  sent  the  canoe  with  accelerated 
speed  through  the  water. 

Not  another  word  was  uttered  until  they  reached 
the  spot  designated  by  the  Scout,  where  they  drew 
the  canoe  carefully  under  the  clustering  foliage,  which 
bent  over  so  as  to  completely  conceal  them  from  the 
most  prying  observation.  Here  they  felt  compara- 
tively safe,  and  in  low  whispers  congratulated  them- 
selves on  their  escape. 


168  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Their  thoughts  and  anxieties  were  now  centred  on 
the  Scout,  for  they  felt  that  their  ultimate  safety  de- 
pended on  his  skill.  They  had  not  been  long  in  their 
covert  when  they  detected  the  sound  of  a  faint  ripple 
in  the  water,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment  a  canoe 
shot  swiftly  by  their  hiding-place.  It  contained  but 
one  person,  and  as  it  passed,  a  low  whisper  reached 
their  ears,  —  "  Be  still,  for  your  lives  !  "  —  and  man 
and  bark  were  lost  in  darkness. 

But  a  minute  or  two  intervened,  when  they  were 
again  startled  by  the  hurried  dip  of  paddles,  and  pres- 
ently another  canoe,  containing  four  savages,  darted 
by  farther  out  in  the  lake,  and  shooting  off  at  an  angle 
greatly  favorable  to  the  Scout  if  he  continued  to  hug 
the  bank.  With  feelings  of  most  intense  anxiety  the 
fugitives  awaited  the  issue  of  events. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

An  hour  perhaps  passed  by,  although  to  the  party 
m  waiting  it  appeared  an  age,  during  which  they  lis- 
tened eagerly,  dreading  every  moment  they  should 
hear  the  savage  3'ell  of  triumph.  Motionless  and 
silent  they  sat,  filled  with  that  sickly  apprehension 
which  springs  from  the  consciousness  of  an  impending 
though  unknown  danger,  more  trying  to  the  nerves 
than  a  bold  confronting  of  the  evil.  Everything  con- 
spired to  heighten  their  gloom, — silence  and  the  dark- 
ness of  the  tomb,  doubts  and  fears,  and  racking  sus- 
pense. 

Sitting  thus  in  dejected  reverie,  a  shght  jar,  from 


THE  SCOUT.  169 

some  object  striking  their  frail  bark,  sent  a  thrill  of 
alarm  through  each  breast. 

Ere  they  recovered  from  the  sudden  shock,. the 
Scout,  leaping  lightly  from  his  own  canoe,  stood 
among  them. 

'^  Seize  your^  paddles,  boys,"  he  whispered  hur- 
riedly; "the  moon  is  up,  and  this  is  no  place  for  us. 
I've  sarcumvented  the  varmints  this  time;"  and  he 
gave  utterance  to  the  peculiar  chuckle  with  which  he 
was  wont  to  express  gratification. 

Without  further  remark  he  forced  the  canoe  from 
its  concealment,  and,  following  down  the  banks,  in  a 
short  time  arrived  near  the  outlet,  where  he  struck 
out  on  the  lake  for  the  opposite  shore.  By  this  time 
the  moon  had  got  above  the  trees  and  threw  a  pillar 
of  light  along  the  lake's  tranquil  bosom. 

"  Now  dip  in  your  paddles,  lads,  for  your  lives," 
said  the  Scout,  as  he  applied  himself  to  the  same  task. 
"  Dip  easy,  and  don't  splash  the  water  about.  If  we 
can  reach  the  opposite  bank,  we  shall  stand  a  smart 
chance  of  getting  out  of  their  clutches.  Keep  up 
your  spirits,  gals  :  a  marciful  Providence  will  deliver 
you  out  of  the  hands  of  the  spoilers  !  I  tried  hard," 
he  continued,  "  to  get  to  you  before  the  moon  was  up, 
but  the  reptiles  dogged  me  so  close  —  ha  !  they  have 
discovered  us ! " 

As  he  sjDoke,  a  loud  whoop  rang  over  the  still  waters 
from  up  the  lake,  and  in  the  distance,  where  the  rays 
of  the  moon  glimmered  on  the  surface,  the  canoe  of 
the  savages  was  seen  in  hot  pursuit. 

"Don't  be  flustrated, youngsters,"  exclaimed  the  old 
man,  in  a  loud,  encouraging  tone.  "  Put  in  all  you 
know,  a  long  sweep  and  a  strong  one,  and  we  will  dis- 
15 


170  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

tance  them  yet  1 "  and,  exerting  all  his  skill  and 
strength,  the  canoe  literally  leaped  over  the  water. 

But  on  and  on  came  the  pursuers,  evidently  gain- 
ing fast  upon  them,  and  uttering  yells  of  triumph  as 
the  distance  between  them  lessened. 

"  Ha !  "  ejaculated  the  Scout,  as  his  quick  eye  de- 
tected their  approach,  '^  we  must  put  a  stop  to  this. 
Don't  lag,  boys,"  he  added,  as  he  drew  in  his  paddle. 
^'  We  '11  see  if  there's  any  vartue  in  this;"  and,  seizing 
his  long  rifle,  he  turned  carelessly  in  his  seat,  raised  the 
weapon  to  his  shoulder,  and  drew  the  trigger.  The 
flame  leaped  forth,  a  wreath  of  smoke  floated  astern, 
the  surrounding  banks  gave  back  echoes  of  the  loud 
report,  and  high  above  them  arose  a  frightful  shriek 
from  the  canoe  in  chase,  which  fully  indicated  the 
fatality  of  the  hunter's  aim. 

*^  Now  we  are  on  more  equal  tarms,"  was  his  cool 
remark,  as  he  exchanged  his  rifle,  after  carefully  re- 
loading it,  for  the  paddle. 

Burning  to  revenge  their  comrade's  death,  the  Indi- 
ans seemed  endowed  with  additional  strength,  and 
their  light  canoe  flew  over  the  lake  with  the  swiftness 
of  a  swallow.  Had  the  distance  to  the  shore  been 
greater,  or  had  not  the  death  of  one  of  their  party 
thrown  them  into  a  momentary  confusion,  the  fugi- 
tives would  inevitably  have  been  overtaken,  and  have 
encountered  the  fatal  struggle  in  a  situation  in  which 
the  foe  would  have  had  them  at  great  advantage. 
Fortunately,  the  lake  at  this  place  was  narrow,  and, 
panting  with  exertion,  the  pursued  reached  the  land 
some  rods  in  advance  of  the  savages. 

"  Smith,  look  to  the  gals  !  "  shouted  the  Scout,  leap- 
ing to  the  shore,  rifle  in  hand,  followed   by  Sands. 


THE   3C0UT.  171 

"  Get  'em  out  of  harm's  way.  Sands  and  me  will  take, 
care  of  these  water-snakes !  " 

Yelling  with  rage  as  they  saw  them  land,  the  sav- 
ages swept  madly  on,  bhnd  to  eve^-ything,  thinking  of 
nothing  but  to  wreak  vengeance,  deep  and  deadly  ven- 
geance, on  the  pale-faces.  The  Scout  and  his  young 
companion  were  on  the  bank,  which  rose  gradually 
from  the  water's  edge,  the  weapon  of  the  latter  resting 
on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  behind  which  he  kneeled. 

^'  Mind  your  aim,  youngster.  Wait  for  the  word. 
Take  the  for'ard  one  ;  you  can  bring  him  down  easier. 
Don't  be  skeared  at  their  bellowing,  't  is  the  crittur's 
natur'." 

Raising  his  rifle  slowly,  as  if  on  an  ordinary  occa- 
sion, the  Scout  gave  the  signal,  and  the  reports  of  the 
two  pieces  were  almost  simultaneous.  When  the  smoke 
cleared  away,  the  Indian  in  the  bow  of  the  canoe  was 
seen  standing  with  uplifted  paddle,  brandishing  it  with 
wild  gestures  in  the  air  like  a  war-club ;  then,  giving  a 
piercing  howl,  he  sprang  in  the  direction  of  the  shore. 
There  was  a  heavy  plash,  a  momentary  struggle,  a 
groan,  and  the  bright  water  closed  over  the  sinking 
savage.  A  second  glance  showed  the  form  of  another 
in  the  stern  of  the  canoe,  the  head  lying  over  the 
gunwale,  motionless  and  ghastly. 

"  That  finishes  two  of  the  varmints,"  exclaimed  the 
Scout,  bringing  the  butt  of  his  piece  to  the  ground  in 
the  act  of  reloading  it ;  "  now  for  the  other." 

But,  before  the  words  were  fairly  out  of  his  mouth, 
a  shot  from  behind  a  tree,  a  little  distance  to  the  left 
and  nearer  the  shore,  where  Smith  had  stationed  him- 
self, had  finished  the  work  of  destruction,  and  the  little, 
light  bark  rocked  violently  for  a  while  on  the  agitated 


172  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

waters,  disturbed  by  the  struggles  of  its  surviving 
occupant  as  he  fell  headlong  into  the  lake. 

For  some  time  the  party  on  shore  stood  gazing  in 
silence  upon  the  place  where  this  scene  of  death  had 
transpired,  until  the  waters  regained  their  placidity, 
and  the  frail  canoe  floated  in  the  quiet  moonlight,  a 
lone  and  deserted  thing,  to  be  driven  with  its  ghastly 
freight  whither  the  winds  should  list.  Feeling  the 
insecurity  of  the  present  neighborhood,  preparations 
were  made  to  leave  it,  and  in  a  short  time  the  party 
were  moving  slowly  and  silently  through  the  forest 
toward  their  distant  home. 

We  will  not  follow  them  on  their  fatiguing  and 
dangerous  journey.  Enough  that  the  settlement  was 
at  last  safely  reached,  and  the  captives  restored,  like 
those  from  the  dead,  to  their  friends,  who  welcomed 
them  and  their  deliverers  with  tears  and  thanks- 
givings. 


CHAPTER    XIY. 

In  detailing  the  exploits  of  our  hero,  we  do  not  aim 
to  present  a  connected  story.  We  purpose  only  to 
portray  him  in  various  situations  in  which  his  peculiar 
characteristics  will  be  best  brought  out,  and  merely  to 
draw  attention  for  the  time  being  to  the  characters 
introduced  in  connection  with  him.  Instead  of  a  con- 
tinuous story,  our  object  is  rather  to  offer  a  series  of 
sketches  in  which  the  Scout  plays  the  prominent  part. 
With  this  explanation  (which  of  right  should  have 
been  made  at  the  outset),  we  proceed. 


THE   SCOUT.  173 

The  scene  to  which  we  would  now  direct  the  atten- 
tion of  the  reader  is  one  that  we  delight  to  con- 
template, —  a  dense  forest  in  the  depth  of  summer. 
Through  the  thick  foliage  of  the  overhanging  branches 
the  sunbeams  fall  with  a  chastened  and  grateful  light. 
The  birds  have  chanted  their  matin  songs,  and  all  is 
hushed  save  the  dreamy  murmur  of  the  pines,  so  like 
the  voice  of  the  sea,  and  the  slight  rustling  of  the  tree- 
tops,  amidst  which  a  gentle  breeze  plays  with  the 
rustling  leaves.  A  little  green  opening  spreads  out 
before  us,  a  dimple  in  the  wilderness,  into  which  the 
rich  sunlight  falls  with  brilliant  effect,  flashing  upon  a 
thread  of  a  stream,  which  winds  itself  quietly  away 
into  the  heart  of  the  forest. 

"  Noiselessly  around, 
From  perch  to  perch,  the  solitary  bird 
Passes  ;  and  yon  clear  spring,  that,  'midst  its  herbs, 
Wells  softly  forth,  and  visits  the  strong  roots 
Of  half  the  mighty  forest,  tells  no  tale 
Of  all  the  good  it  does." 

Seated  on  a  small  hillock  covered  with  a  velvet-like 
moss,  beside  the  stream,  was  the  well-known  form  of 
the  Scout.  At  the  time  of  his  introduction  to  the 
reader,  he  was  making  his  morning  meal  of  dried 
bear's  meat  and  coarse  rye  bread,  washed  down  by  the 
crystal  water  that  rippled  by  his  side ;  and,  from  the 
zest  with  which  he  applied  himself  to  his  task,  there 
could  be  no  doubt,  though  humble  his  fare,  never  a 
pampered  epicure  ate  his  with  better  relish. 

"  A  fresh  bite   of  ven'son  would  n't  go    bad    this 

bracing  morning,"  he  muttered,  in  sohloquy,  as   he 

vainly  essayed  to  tear  asunder  a  tough,  sinewy  morsel 

he  had  in  hand ;  '•  but  there  are  so  many  of  these  out- 

15* 


17-i  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

lying  reptyles  abroad,  it  would  be  resky  kindling  a 
fire,  or  I  'd  have  a  steak.  Wal,  a  good  appetite  is  a 
blessed  thing,  though  't  is  apt  to  be  pesky  oncomfort- 
able  Avhen  the  pouch  is  emj^ty.  I  Ve  seen  the  time, 
many  's  the  day,  when  an  unripe  root  or  a  green  yarb 
tasted  sweeter  than  the  juiciest  cut  of  the  tenderest 
buck.  Hi !  hi !  "  he  continued,  with  a  peculiar  chuckle, 
"  I  shan't  soon  forget  the  tussle  with  the  b'ar.  'T  was 
pesky  hard  telling  which  was  the  hungriest,  and  't  was 
a  mere  sarcumstance,  the  turn  of  a  leaf,  whether  I 
should  eat  him  or  him  me  I  But  beast  natur'  ain't 
equal  to  human  natur',  and  I  won  the  fight,  although 
'twas  tarnal  poor  picking  I  got  from  his  bones.  It 
tasted  right  good,  though.  Ah,  Brave  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
as  a  fine  mastiff  burst  through  a  thicket  a  little  in 
front  of  the  Scout,  and  stood  in  a  bristling  attitude, 
facing  the  quarter  whence  he  came,  "  Ah,  pup,  is  there 
any  mischief  brewing?     Do  you  smell  a  red-skin?" 

The  mastiff  gave  a  low  growl,  at  the  same  time 
showing  by  a  curl  of  his  upper  lip  a  most  formidable 
set  of  teeth.  The  Scout  sprang  quickly  to  his  feet, 
loosened  his  hunting-knife,  and,  grasping  his  rifle, 
stood  in  a  listening  attitude.  The  dog  gazed  awhile 
wistfully  in  his  master's  face,  then  gave  a  low  whine, 
as  if  he  would  warn  him  of  approaching  danger. 

"  I  understand,  I  understand,  pup,"  said  the  old  man, 
walking  to  the  side  of  his  shaggy  companion  and  pat- 
ting his  broad  breast.  "  The  varmints  are  abroad. 
AVhist !  whist !"  and  he  bent  his  ear  to  the  ground. 

^  This  way,  Brave,"  said  the  hunter,  in  a  subdued 
tone,  as  he  rose  from  his  stooping  posture.  "  They  've 
been  working  mischief  in  the  settlements  the  past 
Dight.     We  must  contrive  to  get  on  their  trail,  for  't  is 


THE   SCOUT.  175 

more  than  likely  they  have  got  some  poor  captive 
who  may  need  our  sarvices.  This  way,  pup."  And, 
turning  to  the  left,  he  entered  with  a  quick  though 
noiseless  step  into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  and  man 
and  dog  were  in  a  moment  lost  to  sight. 

But  a  few  minutes  transpired  after  their  disappear- 
ance when  stealthy  steps  were  heard  in  the  woods, 
and  presently  a  file  of  Indians  passed  with  a  quick 
pace  through  the  foot  of  the  little  opening.  At  the 
belts  of  the  two  foremost  hung  the  trophies  of  their 
night's  work.  Dangling  from  each  was  a  bloody 
Bcalp,  the  long,  pliant  locks  of  one  proclaiming  the 
sex  of  the  victim,  and  the  short,  abundant  ringlets  of 
the  other  showing  that  it  came  from  the  head  of  quite 
a  young  child.  So  cautious  were  the  movements  of 
the  band,  none  but  a  practised  ear  could  have  detected 
the  slight  noise  made  as  they  glided  past. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  perhaps  had  elapsed  after  the 
disappearance  of  the  savages,  when  the  Scout,  followed 
by  his  dog,  emerged  from  the  forest  into  the  opening. 
His  quick  eye  soon  detected  the  trail  of  the  Indians. 
Stooping  down,  he  surveyed  it  with  close  attention, 
following  it  along  the  opening  with  the  most  careful 
scrutiny. 

"  There  are  five  of  the  varmints,"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  as,  satisfied  with  the  examination,  he  at  last 
stood  erect.  ^'  The  odds  are  ag'in  me ;  but  that  ^s  noth- 
ing ;  I  Ve  sarcumvented  a  larger  number.  Come, 
Brave."  And,  followed  by  the  faithful  mastiff,  who 
seemed  to  understand  every  motion  of  his  master,  he 
crept  with  a  cat-like  pace  on  the  trail  of  the  savages. 

Leaving  the  Scout  on  the  trail  of  the  Indians,  the 
reader  will  accompany  us  to  another  scene.     It  is  a 


176  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

harrowing  one ;  a  scene,  alas,  too  frequently  recorded 
in  tlie  early  annals  of  New  England.  A  settlement 
on  Casco  Bay,  not  far  remote  from  the  ancient  town 
of  Falmouth,  is  the  spot  to  v/hich  we  would  direct  his 
attention. 

North  Yarmouth,  now  rich  in  resources  and  a  popu- 
lar seat  of  learning,  in  1746  consisted  of  but  a  cluster 
of  small  houses.  The  first  settlers  of  this  place  came 
principally  from  Lynn,  Mass.  They  had  formed  quite 
a  settlement  here  for  the  times,  and  had  lived  in  undis- 
turbed security  until  the  period  of  our  story,  when 
the  war  broke  out,  which  wrought  terror  and  alarm  in 
all  our  eastern  settlements. 

"Willis,  in  his  History  of  Portland,  alluding  to  this 
war,  remarks  of  the  Indians :  "  This  subtle  and  vin- 
dictive enemy  being  again  let  loose  from  all  restraint, 
started  up  from  their  swamps  and  morasses,  harass- 
ing the  whole  line  of  our  settlements,  and  committing 
depredations  upon  the  undefended  plantations.  *  *  * 
They  hovered  about  the  town  all  the  summer,  seizing 
every  opportunity  to  plunder  property  and  take  cap- 
tives or  destroy  life.  *  *  *  The  people  here  were 
kept  in  constant  agitation  during  the  season  by  these 
repeated  depredations;  and  the  terror  was  more 
lively,  as  it  was  caused  by  an  enemy  who  could  not 
be  confronted,  and  whose  secret  and  sudden  visita- 
tions were  marked  by  desolation  and  blood." 

One  night  in  midsummer  the  few  inhabitants  of 
North  Yarmouth  were  aroused  from  their  slumbers 
by  the  glare  of  a  burning  dwelling,  which  stood  a 
slight  distance  away  from  the  settlement,  near  the 
edge  of  the  forest,  and  which  was  occupied  by  a 
family- named  Greeley:  and,  as  they  rushed  trembling 


THE  BCOUT.  177 

to  their  doors,  wild,  frenzied  shrieks  rose  piercingly 
on  the  night  air  from  the  scene  of  conflagration. 
While  those  agonizing  cries  were  ringing  in  their 
ears,  a  terrific  war-whoop  shook  the  air,  and  sent  a 
thrill  to  the  heart  of  every  listener.  That  fearful 
whoop,  the  exulting  shout  of  demons,  revealed  all  to 
the  trembling  settlers.  Well  they  knew  that  the  dread- 
ful deed  was  accomplished  ;  that  vain  would  be  their 
attempts  to  succor.  Still,  there  were  brave  hearts  in 
that  hamlet,  and  with  one  impulse  nearly  every  male 
inhabitant  rushed  towards  t]je  burning  building. 

They  were,  indeed,  too  late !  By  the  light  of  the 
blazing  habitation  the  body  of  Mr.  Greeley  was  found, 
his  skull  cleft  in  twain  by  the  fatal  tomahawk,  and  his 
scalp  gone,  and,  in  close  vicinity,  the  bodies  of  his 
wife  and  young  daughter,  hardly  yet  stiffened  in 
death,  their  gory,  scalpless  heads  revealing  'the  heart- 
sickening,  merciless  barbarity  of  the  red  man. 

The  darkness  of  the  night,  the  uncertainty  of  the 
number  of  the  foe,  and  the  deep  horror  which  had 
seized  on  those  who  gazed  shuddering  on  the  harrow- 
ing spectacle,  debarred  all  pursuit.  They  knew  it 
would  be  vain ;  they  knew  that  the  swamps  and  the 
tangled  recesses  of  the  forest  afforded  a  complete 
shelter  to  the  foe,  and  they  refrained;  but,  as  those 
hardy  men  stood  grouped  around  the  murdered  vic- 
tims, leaning  on  their  guns,  their  deep  breathing  and 
half-muttered  exclamations  told  what  thoughts  of  ven- 
geance were  stirring  within  them.  A  more  mournful 
task  demanded  their  attention.  Eude  biers' were  con- 
structed for  the  slain  by  the  light  of  their  late  happy, 
but  now  fast-consuming  home,  —  their  funeral  pyre, — • 


178  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

and  slowly  and  silently  their  mangled  corpses  were 
conveyed  to  a  neighboring  dwelling. 

There  was  no  more  sleep  in  North  Yarmouth  that 
night.  Tremblingly  the  terrified  wife  and  child  clung 
to  the  husband  and  father,  as  he  detailed  the  awful 
scene  he  had  witnessed,  and  repeated  his  vows  of  ven- 
geance, while  the  thought  that  the  fate  which  had  be- 
fallen his  neighbor  might  be  wrought  upon  his  own 
household,  shook  even  his  stout  heart  with  a  secret 
dread. 

The  morning  sun  of  the  10th  August,  1746,  rose  on  a 
solemn  and  gloomy  scene,  so  late  one  of  undisturbed 
peace  and  comfort.  Its  light  fell  on  cheeks  blanched 
with  fear,  lips  white  and  trembling,  eyes  red  and 
heavy  with  watching  and  weeping,  on  moody  brows 
and  troubled  hearts,  on  the  charred  and  still  smoking 
rafters  of  a  recently  happy  home,  and  on  the  mangled 
corpses  of  a  peaceful  and  unoffending  household.  A 
sad  morning  was  that  10th  of  August  in  that  remote 
settlement. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  a  messenger  was  despatched 
to  Falmouth  with  the  mournful  tidings,  and  a  company 
of  men,  commanded  by  a  namesake  and  kindred  of 
the  writer, —  somewhat  of  an  Indian  fighter  in  his  day, 
—  was  immediately  sent  to  the  scene  of  action,  to  pro- 
tect the  inhabitants  from  further  assault,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  wreak  vengeance  on  the  blood-thirsty  foe. 

At  that  period  every  settlement  had  its  "  Block- 
House,"  so  called,  —  a  large  building,  composed  of 
huge  logs,' and  barricaded  like  a  garrison.  Into  these 
in  dangerous  times  the  settlers  would  throng  for 
refuge ;  and,  frequently,  within  these  crowded  quar- 
ters they  were  compelled  to  remain  for  years,  never 


THE   SCOUT.  179 

venturing  out  unless  with  extreme  caution,  and  always 
taking  care  to  go  completely  armed.  Often,  during  a 
protracted  siege,  were  the  inmates  of  these  block- 
houses nearly  reduced  to  famine,  and  rarely  did  it 
happen  that  they  were  not  subjected  to  the  most 
pinching  want.  Little  conception  have  we  of  the 
trials  and  sufferings  endured  by  the  hardy  pioneers 
of  our  towns  and  villages. 

Having  assisted  the  settlers  in  burying  the  dead 
and  in  removing  their  few  eff'ects  to  the  block-house, 
and  after  seeing  the  women  and  children  safe  within 
its  shelter,  the  company  from  Falmouth,  reinforced  by 
nearly  the  whole  settlement,  scoured  the  neighboring 
country  in  quest  of  the  enemy.  Their  search  was 
ineff'ectual.  The  spoiler  had  come,  executed  his 
bloody  purpose,  and  vanished,  like  a  demon  of  dark- 
ness.    But  the  avenger  was  on  his  track. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"With  a  slightly  stooping  gait,  his  long  rifle  at  a 
trail,  and  his  keen  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  path  he 
was  pursuing,  every  displaced  leaf,  every  depressed 
blade  of  grass,  every  bent  twig,  which  none  but  an 
eye  like  his  would  have  detected,  served  as  a  guide 
to  the  old  hunter,  who  followed  on  the  track  of  the 
savages  with  the  unerring  precision  of  the  blood- 
hound on  the  scent.  Occasionally  he  paused  in  his 
rapid  walk,  and,  bending  his  ear  to  the  ground,  lis- 
tened intently  for  a  moment  or  two.  During  one  of 
the  pauses^  he  patted  the  shaggy  sides  of  the  mastiff^ 


180  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

wliicli  closely  followed  in  liis  footsteps,  and  addressed 
him  in  a  low  tone. 

"  They  shall  rue  it,  Brave  !  they  shall  rue  it  I  ^  Blood 
for  blood,'  says  the  good  book,  though  the  varmints 
are  but  heathens,  and  are  ignorant  of  the  Scripters  1 
A  woman  and  a  child — ah,  Brave  !  there 's  more  marcy 
in  a  brute  than  in  them  reptyles.  They  came  in  the 
direction  from  Yarmouth,  and  those  yaller  ringlets,  so 
much  like  twisted  gold,  were  torn  from  the  head  of 
Ruth  Greeley,  poor  thing  !  or  I  'm  mistaken.  But  I  '11 
revenge  her,  I  '11  revenge  her, —  if  I  die  for't !  Come, 
Brave,"  and  the  Scout  resumed  the  trail  with  the 
same  untiring  pace. 

Throughout  the  day  he  faltered  not  in  the  pursuit, 
making  only  a  brief  halt  at  noon  by  a  spring-side, 
where  he  partook  of  the  frugal  fare  he  bore  with  him, 
which  he  shared  with  his  faithful  companion.  As  the 
day  began  to  decline  and  the  trail  became  more  indis- 
tinct in  the  gathering  darkness,  the  Scout  stopped, 
and  addressed  his  dog. 

"  Here,  Brave,"  said  he,  pointing  ahead,  "  it  is  your 
turn  to  take  the  lead ;  a  dog's  nose  is  better  than  a 
man's  eye  at  this  hour." 

At  the  voice  of  his  master  the  dog  wagged  his  tail, 
as  if  assenting  to  the  command,  and,  after  snujffing 
along  the  path,  as  if  to  secure  the  scent,  he  turned 
his  head,  looking  into  the  hunter's  face,  with  an  "  I  'm 
ready "  expression  about  his  eyes.  The  Scout  nod- 
ded his  head,  the  dog  turned  his,  and,  with  his  nose 
close  to  the  ground,  the  sagacious  animal  trotted 
ahead,  his  master  following  unhesitatingly  his  lead. 

An  hour  or  more  the  two  went  silently  on  their 
'path,  by  which  time  the  woods  had  become  so  dark 


THE  SCOUT.  181 

that  more  caution  was  necessary  in  keeping  the  track. 
Still  the  old  man  followed  the  dog  with  the  ntmost 
confidence,  even  when  the  route  became  wholly  ob- 
scured. Once  only  did  the  dog  show  any  signs  of 
being  at  fault.  Stopping  suddenly  in  his  path,  and 
diverging  first  to  one  and  then  the  other  side  of  the 
course  he  had  been  following,  he  ran  about  for  a  few 
moments,  snuffing  the  air  and  uttering  a  low  whine. 
The  Scout  watched  his  movements  with  eager  curi- 
osity. 

"  Have  you  found  it.  Brave  ?  ^'  he  at  length  whis- 
pered to  the  dog,  who,  having  struck  off  at  nearly  a 
right  angle,  after  running  a  short  distance  in  that 
direction  had  returned  on  the  trot  to  his  master's 
side.  The  dog  joyfully  wagged  his  tail,  and  stood  in 
an  attitude  evincing  an  eagerness  to  proceed.  A 
word  from  his  master,  and  he  started  forward,  fol- 
lowed by  the  Scout,  in  a  direction  varying  essentially 
from  the  one  they  had  been  pursuing. 

^^  There,"  muttered  the  old  man  to  himself, '  after 
they  had  got  fairly  started,  "  that  'ere  pup  knows  more 
than  ary  two  men  in  the  settlement.  'Squire  Hawkes, 
with  all  his  law  and  larning,  is  a  fool  to  him.  They 
say  these  critturs  have  no  souls,  and  can't  reason. 
P'rhaps  not,  p'rhaps  not;  I  can't  say;  but, to  my  think- 
ing, when  that  dog  dies,  it  won't  be  the  eend  on  him ! 
And  as  to  his  reason,  I  ain't  so  clear.  I  've  argued 
many  a  tough  case  with  him  here  in  the  woods,  and  I 
have  Tarnt  to  give  in  to  him,  for,  somehow  or  other, 
't  'as  always  turned  out  that  he  was  in  the  right, 
though  m2/  reason  was  ag'in  him  at  first.  I  've  my 
notion  of  these  things,"  continued  the  Scout,  shaking 
his  head, — "  I  've  my  notion  of  these  things,  and  't  will 
16 


182  FOREST    AXD    SHORE. 

be  plaguy  hard  beating  'em  out  of  me.  Ha,  Brave ! 
what's  in  the  wind?"  he  added, addressing  the  animal, 
who  had  again  stopped,  crouching  before  him. 

A  suppressed  growl  from  the  mastiff  follo^'^'ed  this 
inquiry. 

"Do  you  smell  the  red-skins,  pup?"  said  the  Scout, 
as  he  knelt  beside  the  dog  in  a  listening  attitude.  He 
remained  in  this  position  some  minutes,  but  appa- 
rently without  detecting  the  cause  of  the  dog's  alarm. 

"  The  dog's  nose  beats  eyes  and  ears  this  time," 
said  the  old  man,  in  a  whisper,  "  but  I  '11  lay  my  life 
on 't,  the  varmints  are  not  far  off.  Go,  Brave,  and  find 
'em  out ! " 

The  mastiff  rose  to  his  feet,  and  with  a  noiseless 
tread  kept  on  his  way,  leaving  behind  his  master,  who, 
carefully  putting  aside  the  foliage  of  a  clump  of 
bushes  near  by,  crept  into  their  cover. 

For  nearly  an  hour  he  remained  in  his  concealment, 
anxiously  awaiting  the  return  of  the  mastiff.  He  re- 
posed unbounded  confidence  in  this  faithful  creature, 
whose  sagacity  was  truly  wonderful.  The  animal  was 
of  a  mixed  breed,  combining  all  the  qualities  which 
rendered  him  invaluable  to  a  man  like  the  Scout.  The 
old  man  had  reared  and  trained  him  from  a  pup,  and 
such  a  perfect  sympathy,  as  it  were,  existed  beween 
the  two,  that  neither  of  them  seemed  to  find  the  least 
dijBficulty  in  making  themselves  mutually  understood. 

A  light  patter  among  the  dry  leaves  at  last  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  the  reconnoiterer,  and  pres- 
ently he  entered  the  covert,  and  rubbed  himself  fondly 
against  his  master's  limbs. 
'  "Did  you  diskiver  'em,  dog?  "  said  the  Scout,  stoop- 
ing down  to  caress  the  faithful  animal.    As  he  reached 


THE    SCOUT.  183 

out  bis  hand  for  that  purpose,  it  came  in  contact  with 
the  soft,  silken  ringlets  attached  to  the  scalp  of  the 
child,  accidentally  dropped  by  the  Indian,  perhaps,  and 
■which  the  dog  had  brought  back  as  a  proof  of  the  suc- 
cess of  his  mission.  Yielding  it  to  his  master,  he 
gave  a  low,  angry  growl,  and  turned  toward  the  quar- 
ter whence  he  had  come. 

'^  Ha  !  what  have  we  here  ?  "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
as  he  received  the  fearful  trophy.  "  The  child's  scalp, 
as  I  live  !  Poor  thing,  poor  thing  !  "  and  a  moisture 
gathered  in  his  eye  as  he  smoothed  the  dishevelled 
locks.  "  My  little  playmate  Euth,  so  lively  and  frol- 
icsome, the  pet  of  the  settlement !  And  that  sweet 
little  cherub  so  cruelly  butchered !  Why  didn't  the 
^arth  open  and  swallow  the  fiends  ?  Wal,  wal,  it 's 
all  right,  I  s'pose.  His  wisdom  and  His  mercy  are  not 
to  be  questioned  by  us  weak  and  short-sighted  mor- 
tals; but " 


The  Scout  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  The  tone  in 
which  that  "  but "  was  uttered,  however,  told  the  stern 
purpose  he  had  formed.  Tightening  his  hunting-belt 
and  repriming  his  rifle,  he  made  a  signal  to  Brave, 
who  stood  seemingly  waiting  his  movements,  and 
Scout  and  dog  glided  cautiously  through  the  labyr- 
inths of  the  wilderness,  now  dimly  lighted  by  the  ris- 
ing moon,  whose  rays  scarcely  penetrated  the  deep 
foliage  of  the  forest. 


184  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 


CHAPTER    XYI 


The  scene  was  one  of  gloomy  grandeur.  It  was 
deep  midnight.  Heavy  masses  of  clouds  floated 
athwart  the  heavens,  through  the  rifts  of  which  the 
rays  of  the  moon  occasionally  fell  in  glimmering 
patches  on  a  lake's  broad  bosom,  which  spread  out 
like  a  vast  mirror  of  steel  in  the  uncertain  light.  Tall 
trees  —  the  wide-spread  oak,  the  straight  and  slender 
beech  and  walnut,  the  lithe  ash,  and  the  plume-like  fir 
—  formed  a  dense  array  in  the  background,  while  the 
borders  of  the  lake  were  fringed  with  bushes  and 
thickets  of  alders.  At  one  point,  the  bank  ran  up 
slopingly  to  the  forest's  edge,  which  here  receded  for 
some  distance,  the  huge  trunks  standing  like  massy 
columns  in  the  great  temple  of  nature. 

Deep  silence  brooded  over  this  little  green  plat, — 
silence  and  darkness,  save  when  at  times  a  light  shiver 
ran  among  the  trees,  as  a  breath  of  air  broke  their 
repose,  and  an  opening  in  the  clouds  illuminated  the 
place  with  the  moon's  transient  light.  At  such  times 
might  be  seen,  drawn  up  in  a  line  on  the  grassy  bank, 
their  prows  just  at  the  water's  edge,  three  canoes, 
ready  to  be  launched  at  a  moment's  warning;  and,  clus- 
tered here  and  there,  in  groups,  the  dim  forms  of 
sleeping  savages,  to  the  number  of  ten  or  more. 

It  was  the  temporary  encampment  of  a  war  party, 
each  member  of  which  was  apparently  buried  in  pro- 
found slumber.  A  moment,  however,  showed  that 
there  were  sleepless  eyes  and  listening  ears  in  that 
seemingly  slumbering  band,  for  one  of  the  number 
might  have  been  seen  half-raising  himself,  resting  on 


THE   SCOUT.  185 

an  elbow,  in  an  attitude  expressing  keen  and  vigilant 
watclifulness.  For  five  minutes  or  more  the  attention 
of  the  aroused  savage  seemed  riveted  in  a  particular 
direction,  as  if  his  jealousy  was  awakened,  his  restless, 
burning  glances  striving  to  penetrate  the  dim  recesses 
of  the  surrounding  woods,  and  his  ears  keenly  sensi- 
tive to  the  faintest  sound  that  might  be  afloat.  After 
a  while,  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  scrutiny,  he  let  him- 
self slowly  down  to  his  former  recumbent  position. 

Keen  as  were  the  senses  of  the  red  man,  confident 
as  he  was  of  his  power  of  detecting  the  first  approach 
of  danger,  there  was  one  in  his  immediate  neighbor- 
hood whose  skill  and  cunning  in  wood-craft  were  more 
than  a  match  for  him.  In  an  angle  of  the  opening 
was  a  thick  clump  of  bushes,  and  towards  this,  prone 
on  the  ground,  the  form  of  a  man  might  have  been 
seen,  at  the  very  time  the  awakened  savage  was  peer- 
ing around  with  those  snake-hke  eyes  of  his,  worming 
slowly  along.  Not  the  rustle  of  a  leaf,  not  the  crackle 
of  a  twig,  marked  the  wily  movement,  which  was  so 
slow  as  to  be  almost  imperceptible. 

The  covert  was  at  last  reached,  and  for  nearly  an 
hour  the  figure  remained  as  if  void  of  life.  It  was 
now  that  time  of  night  when  the  senses  are  most 
deeply  locked  in  slumber,  the  hour  generally  chosen 
by  the  savage  for  an  attack.  A  dead  silence  reigned 
over  the  scene,  broken  only  by  the  heavy  breathings 
of  the  red  men,  all  of  whom,  even  to  the  sentinel, 
were  buried  in  profound  slumber.  Slowly  and  cau- 
tiously the  prostrate  figure  of  the  man  in  the  bushes 
rose  upright,  revealing  the  well-known  form  of  the 
Scout. 

After  peering  around  on  the  sleeping  savages,  the  .^^^§^ 
16-^  '^""^ 


186    .  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

hunter  gave  a  low,  serpent-like  liiss,  and  presently  the 
shaggy  mastiff  was  seen  treading  noiselessly  over  the 
dried  leaves,  jnst  skirting  the  forest,  to  where  his 
master  was  secreted,  the  cover  he  had  chosen  being 
directly  opposite  his  entrance  into  the  opening.  Arriv- 
ing at  his  master's  side,  the  dog  stood  looking  wist- 
fully into  his  face. 

Stooping  down  and  patting  the  head  of  the  faithful 
animal,  the  old  man  held  the  child's  scalp  towards  him 
and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Go,  Brave,  and  smell  'em 
out ! " 

In  obedience  to  the  command,  the  sagacious  crea- 
ture started,  picking  his  w^ay  slowly  and  carefully 
along  among  the  sleeping  foes,  snuffing  the  air  as  he 
went,  until  at  last  he  paused  by  the  side  of  two  of  the 
savages  who  were  huddled  a  little  apart  from  the 
others,  and,  fortunately  for  the  design  of  the  Scout,  in 
close  proximity  to  the  forest's  edge. 

What  that  design  was,  the  reader  has  already  sur- 
mised. It  was  to  avenge  the  death  of  the  mother  and 
child.  He  had  been  prowling  around  the  encampment 
for  some  hours,  and  had  ascertained  the  number  of  the 
enemy.  Their  superior  force,  and  the  great  risk  of 
detection,  would  have  deterred  a  less  resolute  man : 
but  the  Scout  knew  not  fear,  and,  once  his  mind  re- 
solved, no  danger,  however  threatening,  would  turn 
him  aside. 

'"Tis  pesky  risky  business,  I  know,"  soliloquized 
the  old  man,  "but  little  Ruth  shall  be  avenged, — 
that  I  'ra  detarmined  on  I  " 

Leaving  his  rifle  in  the  bushes,  and  unsheathing  his 
long  knife,  he  prepared  himself  for  the  fearful  and  des- 
perate task  he  had  undertaken. 


THE    SCOUT.  187 

"  I  'd  rather  meet  'em  in  a  fair  fight,"  was  the  tenor 
of  his  thoughts  as  he  left  his  covert  and  warily  ad- 
vanced to  the  spot  where  Brave  stood  motionless  over 
the  unconscious  sleepers, — "  I  'd  rather  meet  'em  in  a 
fair  fight,  with  a  tree  atween  us,  when  the  quickest 
eye  and  the  surest  aim  does  the  job.  This  stabbing 
'em  in  their  sleep  is  ag'in  my  white  natur',  and  too 
much  like  the  desateful  red-skins.  There  's  a  taint  of 
murder  about  it  I  don't  like;"  and  for  a  moment  he 
paused  and  hesitated  in  his  vengeful  purpose. 

Then  came  the  thought  of  little  Ruth,  writhing 
under  the  merciless  scalping-knife  ;  then,  too,  came  the 
thought  of  his  own  sister,  who  fell  beneath  the  mur- 
derous tomahawk,  and  over  whose  mangled  corpse  he 
had  sworn  that  for  every  drop  of  blood  shed  of  hers 
a  red  man's  life  should  be  forfeited.  Well  had  that 
oath  been  kept;  and  should  he  relent  now,  with  some 
of  the  very  tribe  befoi-e  him  that  committed  that  deed, 
perhaps  the  very  perpetrator  of  it,  his  hands  fresh- 
stained  with  innocent  blood?  The  cruel  foe  were  in 
his  power,  and  the  very  ground  seemed  to  cry,  "Blood 
for  blood ! " 

"  They  shall  die  !  "  exclaimed  the  Scout,  in  an  ex- 
cited voice,  completely  thrown  off  his  guard  as  these 
recollections  thronged  upon  him,  and  totally  forgetful 
of  his  perilous  situation  and  the  extreme  caution 
necessary. 

He  had  nearly  reached  the  side  of  the  Indians  when 
these  fatal  words  were  uttered,  and  barely  had  they 
escaped  his  lips,  when  he  was  made  sensible  of  his 
imprudence,  for  the  savage  nearest  to  him  sprang  half 
way  to  his  feet  with  an  expressive  "  Ugh!  "  But  ere 
he  had  got  his  footing  the  old  man  leaped  upon  him, 


188  FOilEST   AND   SHORE. 

like  a  panther  on  its  prey,  and  the  next  moment  his 
knife  was  buried  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  savage.  A 
gurgling  groan  burst  from  the  mortally-wounded  foe, 
as  he  fell  heavily  across  his  sleeping  companion. 
Quick  as  lightning,  ere  the  one  thus  suddenly  aroused 
had  a  moment  for  thought  or  speech,  the  dog  had  him 
by  the  throat,  and  only  released  his  hold  when  the 
formidable  knife  of  the  hunter,  with  one  swoop,  had 
half  severed  the  head  from  the  body  of  the  victim. 

Ere  the  reeking  blade  was  withdrawn  from  the  gap- 
ing wound,  a  wild  whoop  rang  through  the  air,  and  a 
dozen  dusky  forms  leaped,  as  if  by  magic,  from  the 
sward. 

Aroused  suddenly  from  a  deep  sleep,  the  bewildered 
savages  made  a  simultaneous  rush  towards  the  canoes, 
two  of  which  were  hastily  launched  upon  the  lake, 
filled  with  the  startled  and  but  half-awakened  party. 
Taking  advantage  of  the  momentary  confusion,  with 
his  gaunt  form  bent  nearly  to  the  earth,  the  old  man, 
followed  by  his  dog,  glided  into  the  clump  of  bushes 
where  he  had  left  his  rifle.  Grasping  his  trusty 
weapon,  he  plunged  into  the  neighboring  forest  With 
rapid  strides,  burying  himself  each  moment  deeper 
within  its  intricate  mazes.  He  knew  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost,  and  that  all  his  cunning  would  be 
required  to  extricate  him  from  the  peril  which  sur- 
rounded him.  After  the  first  alarm  had  subsided,  he 
was  perfectly  aware  the  foe  would  lose  not  a  moment 
in  dogging  his  footsteps. 

He  was  right,  for,  after  the  momentary  confusion 
was  over,  and  perceiving  no  other  demonstrations  of 
an  attack,  the  canoes  were  paddled  to  the  landing,  the 
savages  leaped  on  shore,  and-  immediately  made  prep- 


THE   SCOUT.  189 

arations  for  offensive  operations.  The  discovery  of 
their  fallen  companions  excited  them  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  revenge,  and  called  forth  a  fierce  howl  of 
rage,  which,  reaching  the  ears  of  the  Scout,  added 
wings  to  his  flight.  His  first  object  was  to  put  as 
great  a  distance  between  himself  and  the  foe  as  possi- 
ble, hoping  to  escape  them  by  superior  speed,  not 
doubting  they  would  follow  his  track,  urged  on  by  ha- 
tred and  revenge. 

With  incredible  rapidity  he  threaded  his  way 
through  the  thick  woods,  every  little  while  changing 
the  direction  of  his  route  in  the  hope  of  throwing  his 
pursuers  off  his  trail.  Occasionally  he  would  cast  an 
upward  glance  through  the  opening  foliage.  To  his 
regret,  he  perceived  the  clouds  which  veiled  the  moon 
were  rolling  toward  the  east,  and  ere  long  her  light 
would  be  entirely  unobscured.  In  darkness  he  trusted 
in  a  great  measure  for  his  safety,  and,  so  long  as 
the  moon  remained  eclipsed,  he  cherished  the  assur- 
ance that  his  trail  would  remain  undiscovered,  and 
even  its  light,  he  hoped,  would  not  be  sufficient  to 
reveal  it.  Give  him  the  hour  or  two  until  daylight, 
and  he  had  no  apprehensions  for  his  safety.  Worst 
come  to  worst,  we  cannot  say  that  the  Scout  would 
have  experienced  much  alarm,  for  he  had  often  been 
thrown  into  equally  dangerous  positions,  in  which  his 
cunning  and  skill  had  alone  proved  his  salvation.  As 
to  fear,  that  was  a  feeling  which  never  troubled  his 
breast. 

The  hopes  that  his  trail  would  not  be  discovered 
were  soon  dissipated,  however,  for,  faintly  echoing 
through  the  forest,  a  furious  yell  swelled  upon  the 


100  FOKEST    aXD    shore. 

night  air,  which  the  old  man  well  knew  was  one  of 
triumph.     The  foe  were  on  his  track. 

''  The  varmints  have  sharp  eyes,  for  sartain  ! "  he 
muttered  to  himself,  as  presently  a  second  and  more  dis- 
tinct peal  of  triumph  broke  the  stillness  of  the  forest. 
An  angry  growl  from  the  mastiff  followed. 

"  Do  you  hear  'em,  Brave?  the  reptyles  are  arter  us  ! 
But  it  will  be  pesky  hard  if  we  can't  sarcumvent  'em 
w^ith  this  start  and  in  the  dark.  Wal,  't  ain't  much  use 
to  be  hurried  now,  as  I  knows,"  he  added,  slacking  his 
pace;  "they  will  want  a  nose  like  your'n,  pup,  to  fol- 
low us  in  all  our  twistings.  There's  a  sense,  now, 
that  dumb  crittur's  got,  which  God  has  gi'n  to  no  mor- 
tal, although  I  sometimes  consate  these  'tarnal  red- 
skins have  it,  they  follow  one  up  so  in  the  night." 

A  whine  from  the  dog  interrupted  the  muttered 
soliloquy  of  his  master.  The  Scout  stopped  and 
threw  himself  at  length  on  the  ground,  with  his  ear 
just  raised  from  the  earth. 

''  You  're  right,  pup  !  "  said  the  Scout,  springing  to 
his  feet  and  composedly  patting  his  companion.  "  The 
varmints  are  swift  on  the  foot,  and  are  nigher  than  I  'd 
an  ide^  of.  Nothing 's  left  then  but  to  play  'possum 
with  'em ! " 

He  had  jnst  entered  a  more  than  usually  heavy 
growth  of  wood,  —  huge  trees,  whose  interlacing 
branches  formed  a  dense  roof  of  leaves  overhead. 
After  proceeding  some  distance,  he  retraced  his  steps 
with  the  greatest  care,  and,  selecting  a  low-limbed  oak, 
he  placed  his  rifle  in  the  branches,  and,  grasping  a  limb 
within  his  reach,  swung  himself  into  the  tree.  With 
the  ease  and  agiHty  of  a  youthful  nut-gatherer  he 
passed  from  tree  to  tree,  striking  off  to  the  left.     He 


THE  SCOUT.  101 

worked  his  way  along  in  this  manner  for  a  number 
of  rods,  until  he  reached  a  broad,  shallow  stream. 
Letting  himself  down  from  his  airy  perch  into  the 
centre  of  this  rivulet,  he  gave  a  low  signal,  which  in 
a  few  minutes  brought  the  faithful  Brave  to  his  side. 
The  two  then  commenced  following,  up  the  rocky 
channel  of  the  stream  towards  the  lake  for  perhaps  an 
eighth  of  a  mile,  when  the  Scout  again  struck  into  the 
woods  in  a  direction  which  led  to  the  very  point  from 
which  he  had  first  started. 

"  I  reckon  't  will  puzzle  the  varmints  some  to  follow 
my  trail  now,"  chuckled  the  old  man  to  himself; 
"  though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  many  's  the  time  I  've 
tracked  their  steps  under  water.  But  it  wants  broad 
daylight  to  do  that  in,  and  a  sharp  eye  to  boot,  which 
every  man  hain't  got.  'T  is  a  gift  of  natur',  as  Parson 
Smith  on  the  Neck  said  the  other  day.  A  clever  man 
that  Smith,  and  a  right  smart  one,  too,  on'y  he  is  too 
oncommonly  gifted  in  prayer,  'specially  in  a  cold  win- 
ter's day.  His  sarmonts  is  very  edifying,  so  I  've 
hearn  tell;  and  he  handles  a  gun  well,  too,  that  I 
know,  —  a  good  shot,  a  good  shot  for  a  parson." 

Muttering  to  himself  in  this  manner,  totally  indif- 
ferent to  the  dangers  which  surrounded  him,  the  old 
man  continued  his  way  towards  the  •  encampment  of 
the  savages,  assured  that,  wherever  they  might  look 
for  him,  they  would  not  suspect  his  presence  in  that 
neighborhood,  which  they  had  faithfully  scoured  on 
the  first  alarm ;  after  which,  his  trail  being  discovered, 
four  of  the  runners  had  started  ofi"  in  pursuit. 


192  FOREST  AND  SHOEE. 


CHAPTER   XYII 


The  first  faint  streaks  of  light  were  ''  glimmering  in 
the  dappled  east ;"  the  lake,  unruffled  by  the  gentlest 
zephyr,  spread  out  its  broad,  glassy  bosom,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  little  green  islets  ;  the  bordering 
trees  and  bushes  hung  motionless  over  the  still  waters 
in  which  their  foliage  was  perfectly  reflected,  tinging 
the  edges  of  the  lake  with  a  deep  green,  like  colored 
crystal,  —  the  whole  forming  as  quiet  and  beautiful  a 
picture  as  ever  delighted  the  eye  of  a  lover  of  nature. 
The  woods  were  vocal  with  the  matin  song  of  birds, 
their  rich  and  varied  warblings  blending  into  one  glo- 
rious harmony,  as  if  the  feathered  choir  had,  in  the 
language  of  Milton, 

*'  Cleared  up  their  choicest  notes  in  bush  and  spray. 
To  gratulate  the  sweet  return  of  morn. ' ' 

Far  off  on  the  lake,  just  seen  in  the  dawning  hght, 
a  solitary  canoe  glided  slowly  on  its  way.  A  short 
time  and  it  doubled  a  point  of  land  and  disappeared 
from  sight.  Drawn  up  on  the  bank  of  the  little  open- 
ing alread}^  described  were  the  two  remaining  canoes, 
•^u^,-...^,  and  under  a  neighboring  tree,  stark  and  ghastly, 
'-''"-"Iry  ^retched  out  the  body  of  one  of  the  savages  who  had 
fallen  beneath  the  knife  of  the  hunter.  The  canoe 
that  had  just  been  lost  to  view  bore  the  body  of  the 
other  victim,  a  chief  of  some  note,  on  its  way  to  the 
distant  tribe  to  which  he  belonged. 

From  the  belt  of  the  corpse  beneath  the  tree  was 
still  suspended  the  woman's  scalp,  which  had  called 
down  upon  the  perpetrator  of  the  foul  deed  the  dire 


THE   SCOUT.  193 

vengeance  of  the  Scout.  The  long  dark  hair  lay  in  a 
heavy  mass  upon  his  breast,  as  if,  even  in  death,  he 
triumphed  in  this  fearful  trophy  of  his  cruelty. 

The  plat  was  entirely  deserted'.  Presently,  however, 
the  tall  form  of  the  Scout  might  have  been  seen 
emerging  from  the  woods.  Casting  quick  and  search- 
ing glances  in  every  direction,  he  advanced  with  the 
utmost  caution  towards  his  fallen  foe,  occasionally 
pausing,  listening  intently,  and  eyeing  suspiciously 
every  bush  and  tree,  as  if  they  concealed  a  lurking 
enemy.  Stepping  as  if  his  lightest  footfall  would 
break  the  slumber  of  the  dead,  he  reached  at  last  the 
side  of  the  corpse. 

"  The  marciless  wretches  shan't  have  this  to  exult 
over,"  muttered  the  old  man,  as  he  disengaged  the 
scalp  from  the  belt  and  carefully  placed  it  in  his  pouch, 
where  tlie  ringlets  of  mother  and  child  mingled  in 
striking  though  mournful  contrast. 

He  had  turned  to  retrace  his  steps,  when  a  sudden 
thought  seemed  to  occur  to  him. 

*'  I  '11  do  it  to  madden  the  varmints,"  he  remarked, 
in  an  emphatic  tone ;  "  't  will  ruck  them  up  awfully, 
I  calkerlate." 

Unsheathing  his  knife  and  stooping  ovor  the  head 
of  the  corpse,  with  a  dexterity  that  evinced  a  prac- 
tised hand,  he  removed  the  scalp  from  the  dead  In- 
dian's head,  and  then,  having  placed  it  in  the  place  so 
lately  occupied  by  the  scalp  of  the  woman,  he  noise- 
lessly left  the  spot.  An  angry  growl  from  Brave 
quickened  his  steps.  In  a  moment  he  was  again  in 
the  woods  and  on  his  way  to  Yarmouth,  skilfully  and 
cunningly  endeavoring  to  conceal  his  trail  —  no  easy 
matter —  from  the  prying  eyes  of  the  red-skins. 
17 


194  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Ten  minutes  had  barely  elapsed,  during  which  the 
Scout  was  malting  the  best  of  his  way  toward  the  set- 
tlement,  when  behind  him  there  arose  a  yell  so  wild 
and  terrific,  a  howl  so  demoniacal  and  unearthly,  that 
even  the  old  hunter,  to  whose  ears  such  sounds  were 
famihar,  could  not  conceal  a  slight  shudder  as  it  went 
echoing  through  the  forest. 

"  Ha  !  ■'  he  ejaculated,  as  he  increased  his  speed,  "the 
reptyles  have  returned  and  diskivered  the  scalp,  and  it 
has  touched  the  raw.  The  sooner  I  get  out  of  this 
neighborhood,  I  consate,  the  better.'^ 

Throughout  the  day,  hardly  slackening  his  pace,  he 
continued  to  thread  the  tangled  forest,  until,  about 
nightfall,  he  approached  the  settlement  of  North  Yar- 
mouth. In  the  outskirts  he  fell  in  with  a  number  of 
the  scouting  party  from  Falmouth,  who  detailed  to 
him  the  atrocity  that  had  been  committed. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Scout;  "I  knew  the  reptyles 
had  been  at  their  bloody  work  in  the  settlements. 
Poor  little  Ruth !  "  And  the  old  man's  voice  became 
choked  with  emotion. 

"  But  have  you  not  seen  any  signs  of  the  Indians, 
Wier  ?"  asked  one  of  the  party. 

"  I  reckon  I  have,  the  varmints  !  "  replied  the  Scout ; 
and,  opening  his  pouch,  he  handed  the  astonished 
speaker  the  two  scalps. 

"  Why,  what  are  these  ?  Where  did  you  get  them  ?  " 
were  the  eager  exclamations  of  the  party,  as  they 
closed  round  him  and  gazed  on  the  gory  trophies. 

"  They  are  proofs,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  deep 
feeling,  "  that  little  Ruth  and  her  mother  are  avenged!  " 

A  few  more  questions  and  replies  elicited  the  whole 
Btory ;  and,  with  a  shout  of  triumph,  th©  men  escorted 


THE   SCOUT.  195 

the  Scout  to  the  block-house,  where  his  prowess  was 
the  theme  of  many  an  admiring  tongue. 

To  escape  the  comphments  showered  upon  him,  the 
Scout  modestly  remarked,  "I  take  no  credit  to  my- 
self; you  may  thank  that  'ere  dog  for  all  this,  for,  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  Brave,  I  should  never  have  trapped 
the  varmints." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  add,  that,  ever  after,  the  faithful 
Brave  was  a  petted  favorite  in  the  settlement. 


CHAPTER    XYIII. 

The  desolating  war  which  so  ravaged  our  early  set- 
tlements, and  in  which  the  Scout  took  such  an  active 
part,  was  caused  by  the  struggle  between  England 
and  France  for  the  supremacy  in  North  America.  The 
latter  had  enlisted  in  her  cause,  as  we  have  already 
mentioned,  the  aborigines  of  the  country,  over  whom, 
through  the  subtle  agency  of  the  Jesuits,  she  exer- 
cised a  powerful  influence.  This  harassing  state  of 
affairs  continued  until  the  conquest  of  Quebec,  in 
1759.  The  battle  on  the  plains  of  Abraham,  in  Sep- 
tember of  that  year,  in  which  the  rival  commanders, 
Wolfe  and  Montcalm,  sealed  their  loyalty  with  their 
lives,  broke  the  power  of  the  French  in  this  country, 
and  their  copper-colored  alKes  consulted  their  safety 
by  submitting  to  the  conquerors. 

During  the  contest,  while  other  settlements  had 
been  frequently  wasted.  Buxton,  then  known  as  Nar- 
ragansett  Township,  Xo.  1,  although  a  frontier  town, 
had  remained  unmolested  for  a  number  of  years.    Yet 


196  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

the  rumors  of  the  devastating  inroads  on  the  neigh- 
boring townships  kept  the  inhabitants  in  constant 
alarm.  At  the  time  the  incidents  took  place  which 
we  are  about  to  record,  the  hamlet  consisted  of  only 
seven  or  eight  houses.  In  one  of  these,  which  stood 
a  little  apart  from  the  rest  on  the  skirts  of  the  forest, 
resided  a  family  by  the  name  of  Woodman.  The 
parents  were  somewhat  advanced  in  age,  and  of  their 
numerous  children  one  only  remained,  a  daughter,  the 
pet  of  their  old  age. 

Annie  Woodman  was  a  bright,  lively  girl  of  six- 
teen, whose  neat,  comely  figure  and  winning  counte- 
nance had  made  an  impression  on  more  than  one 
youthful  heart  in  the  settlement.  Though  a  pet,  she 
was  not  a  spoiled  one,  for  she  relieved  her  mother  of 
a  large  share  of  the  cares  of  the  household.  Frolic- 
some as  a  kitten  in  her  playful  moods,  and  at  all 
times  cheerful,  she  was  the  delight  of  her  parents 
and  the  favorite  of  all.  And  truly  was  Annie  worthy 
of  this  regard,  for  beneath  her  brilliant  flow  of  spirits 
there  existed  a  character  full  of  lofty  energy  and 
replete  with  tenderness.  Unharmed  by  the  excessive 
affection  lavished  upon  her,  she  promised  in  the  devel- 
opment of  her  powders  to  combine  all  those  graces  of 
mind  and  heart  which  form  the  perfect  woman. 

It  is  not  our  purpose,  however,  to  give  the  entire 
history  of  Annie  at  this  time.  We  have  given  a 
slight  portrayal  of  her  person  and  disposition  merely 
to  awaken  the  interest  of  the  reader  in  her  behalf, 
while  we  relate  a  single  passage  in  her  early  life. 

At  the  close  of  an  autumnal  day,  shortly  after  the 
events  recorded  in  the  previous  chapters,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Woodman  were  seated  by  their  open  door,  watch- 


THE   SCOUT.  197 

ing  for  the  return  of  Annie,  who  had  gone  in  the  early 
part  of  the  afternoon  on  a  visit  to  a  friend,  living 
about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  distant.  It  was  now  some 
time  past  the  hour  fixed  for  her  return,  and  her  pa. 
rents  sat  wondering  at  her  prolonged  absence.  As 
the  sun  disappeared  and  the  twilight  deepened,  their 
wonder  grew  into  anxiety,  and  their  eyes  were  more 
frequently  bent  upon  the  grassy  road  which  opened 
through  a  dense  grove  of  pine  in  the  distance,  whence 
they  looked  for  her  coming. 

Still  deeper  grew  the  twihght,  and  still  no  Annie 
came.  Her  unusually  protracted  absence  at  last  ex- 
cited the  alarm  of  her  parents.  Could  she  have  been 
beset  on  her  way  by  some  wild  beast  of  the  forest? 
This  was  the  first  thought  suggested ;  for,  though  a 
general  apprehension  prevailed  on  account  of  the 
savages,  yet  this  township  had  been  so  uniformly  ex- 
empted from  their  attacks  that  no  particular  alarm 
was  felt  in  regard  to  them.  Filled  with  terror  at  the 
idea  suggested,  the  old  man  took  his  gun  and  has- 
tened down  the  road,  closely  scrutinizing  each  side 
of  the  path,  dreading  at  each  step  that  he  might 
detect  something  to  confirm  his  fears,  —  some  frag- 
ment of  her  dress, — perhaps  her  mangled  corpse.  He 
passed  through  the  pine  growth  without  discovering 
any  trace  of  his  child,  and,  hurrying  along  with  a 
mind  somewhat  relieved,  he  at  last  reached  the  house 
of  his  neighbor.  The  tidings  he  here  received  aug- 
mented his  fears  a  thousand-fold,  and  nearly  pros- 
trated him  in  despair.  He  learned  that  Annie  had 
started  for  home  nearly  two  hours  previous.  Her 
friend  accompanied  her  part  of  the  way,  and  parted 
17* 


198  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

with  her  at  the  entrance  of  the  pine  grove,  as  the 
woods  were  called. 

As  soon  as  her  absence  was  made  known  an  intense 
excitement  prevailed.  An  anxions  but  fruitless  dis- 
cussion took  place  as  to  the  cause  of  her  absence. 
"Was  it  not  probable  she  had  left  the  beaten  path  for 
the  more  shady  woods,  and  loitered  by  the  way,  and 
might  she  not  have  reached  home  after  her  father 
had  left?  There  was  a  bare  probabihty  that  this 
might  be  the  case ;  still,  so  slender  was  it  deemed, 
that,  while  a  man  was  despatched  on  horseback  to 
ascertain  the  fact,  two  others  started  off  to  arouse 
the  settlers. 

The  man  despatched  to  Mr.  Woodman's  soon  re- 
turned, but  he  brought  no  tidings  of  the  missing  one  ; 
and  in  a  short  time  six  or  seven  of  the  inhabitants 
had  assembled,  each  with  his  gun,  ready  with  his 
service.  By  this  time  it  had  grown  somewhat  dark, 
although  the  twihght  rendered  objects  still  visible  at 
quite  a  distance. 

The  agony  of  the  father  would  hardly  permit  him 
to  wait  for  the  brief  consultation  that  took  place,  in 
order  to  facilitate  a  plan  of  search.  With  a  wild,  hur- 
ried step,  he  paced  the  opening  in  front  of  the  house, 
unable  to  suppress  the  moans  of  anguish  that  burst 
from  his  hps.  "  My  child  !  My  dear  Annie  !  —  lost ! 
lost !  "  were  his  broken  exclamations.  "  0  God,  spare 
me  this  crushing  trial !  Leave  me  not  childless  in  my 
old  age ! "  and,  wringing  his  hands,  he  continued  to 
stride  in  front  of  the  dwelling,  his  haggard  face  and 
quivering  hps  proclaiming,  more  strongly  than  lan- 
guage could  express,  the  depth  of  his  despair. 

It  was  at  length  decided  that  the  party  should  pro- 


THE  SCOUT.  199 

vide  themselves  with  torches  and  make  a  circuit  of 
the  forest,  each  man  having  his  particular  beat,  which 
he  was  carefully  to  explore.  Certain  signals  were 
agreed  upon  in  case  of  any  discovery,  and  a  rallying 
point  assigned  where  all  should  meet  when  the  search 
was  over.  Mr.  Woodman,  whose  advanced  age  ren- 
dered him  susceptible  to  fatigue,  and  who  had  become 
completely  exhausted  by  excitement,  was  induced  to 
return  home,  where  indeed  his  presence  was  greatly 
needed,  to  comfort  and  console  his  aged  and  well- 
nigh  distracted  partner. 

Just  as  the  party  were  starting  on  their  expedition, 
a  loud  holloa  from  some  one  at  a  distance  caused 
them  to  look  back.  A  tall  figure,  just  discernible 
afar  off,  was  seen  hastening  towards  them  with  rapid 
strides.  Presuming  it  to  be  one  of  the  settlers 
coming  to  assist  them,  they  were  about  to  resume 
their  way,  leaving  word  for  him  to  follow,  when  one 
of  the  party,  a  young  man  by  the  name  of  Elden, 
whose  feelings  seemed  deeply  enlisted  in  the  affair, 
exclaimed,  with  a  joyful  voice, — 

"  Wait,  wait !  it  is  the  Scout !  " 

At  the  name  of  the  Scout  the  whole  party  imme- 
diately came  to  a  halt,  and  eagerly  awaited  the  ap- 
proach of  one  whose  experience  and  sagacity  were 
so  well  known.  He  was  soon  in  their  midst,  accom- 
panied by  his  dog,  a  large,  shaggy  animal,  of  a  mixed 
breed;  and  his  presence  was  hailed  with  the  most 
lively  satisfaction. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Scout,  the  bereaved  father, 
who  had  proceeded  a  few  rods  in  advance,  turned  and 
hastened  towards  him.  Grasping  his  hands  with  affect- 
ing earnestness,  and  gazing  into  his  face  with  an  ex- 


200  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

pression  in  which  hope  and  despair  were  strangely 
commingled,  he  exclaimed,  ^'  0,  sir,  save  her !  Save 
my  child,  Scout,  if  she  is  not  torn  by  the  wild  beasts, 
and  the  blessing  of  an  old  man  rest  upon  you  !  " 

"  The  wild  critturs  have  not  harmed  her,  old  man,'^ 
said  the  Scout,  sensibly  affected  by  the  appeal  of  the 
father ;  "  the  gal  still  hves,  and  I  will  save  her,  if  it  is 
in  the  power  of  mortal  man  so  to  do." 

"  Bless  you  !  May  the  Almighty  bless  you  !  "  was 
the  hurried  reply  of  Mr.  Woodman,  a  heavy  weight 
lifted  from  his  heart,  —  such  faith  had  he  in  the  words 
of  the  old  hunter. 

The  assurance  given  by  the  Scout  that  Annie  lived, 
although  he  had  given  no  reason  for  the  declaration, 
infused  new  courage  and  ardor  into  the  breasts  of  all. 
Mr.  Woodman  left  for  home  with  a  lighter  heart, 
although  the  uncertainty  that  still  rested  on  the  fate 
of  his  darling  child  filled  him  with  despondency. 

"  It  was  a  lucky  sarcumstance  I  happened  along 
this  way  just  now,"  said  the  Scout,  as  the  company 
proceeded  up  the  road.  ^^  I  We  been  out  hunting  in 
these  parts  lately,  and  stepped  in  to  Elder  Tufts'  on 
my  way  to  Falmouth,  an  hour  since,  to  get  a  bite  of 
something  and  to  mention  a  word  or  two  that  con- 
sarns  your  safety  around  here,  when  I  I'arnt  about 
this  affair  of  the  gal;  and,  as  I  know  her  well,  and  her 
sire,  I  thought  I  might  be  of  some  assistance,  so  I 
hurried  on  to  overtake  you." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  Annie  is  alive,  and 
where  is  she?"  asked  young  Elden,  in  a  voice  whose 
agitation  betrayed  his  deep  interest  in  the  matter. 

^^  Wal,  youngster,  I  have  two  good  reasons  for  con- 
sating  she  is  not  dead.     The  elder's  wife  down  yonder 


THE   SCOUT.  201 

told  me  no  signs  of  the  gal  can  be  found  in  the  road. 
Now,  the  pesky  beasts  are  not  so  hungry  at  this  season 
as  to  eat  up  a  lass  like  Annie  Woodman,  duds  and  all, 
without  leaving  some  fragments  behind.  So  it  is 
pretty  clear  she  is  not  devoured  ;  and,  if  not  devoured, 
where  is  she  ?  That 's  the  question,  I  s'pose,  young- 
ster, you  wish  to  have  answered.  Wal,  to  tell  the  truth, 
then,  boy,  I  don't  know !  I  argue  no  wild  beast  car- 
ried her  off,  for  that  is  well-nigh  uupossible,  without 
leaving  marks,  and  — —  " 

''  What,  then,  has  become  of  her.  Scout  ?  "  asked  two 
or  three  of  the  company,  simultaneously,  and  with  some 
degree  of  impatience. 

"  Become  of  her,''  rejoined  the  hunter,  patting  his 
dog  on  the  head ;  "  that 's  to  be  found  out,  I  consate ; 
hey.  Brave?     The  savages  are  desprit  cunning " 

"  The  savages.  Scout ! ''  exclaimed  his  companions  ; 
"  we  have  not  heard  of  their  being  in  this  neighbor- 
hood." 

*^  Likely  as  not,"  replied  the  imperturbable  hunter ; 
"  they  are  not  in  the  habit  of  blowing  a  trumpet  to  tell 
you  they  are  coming.  But  I  've  had  my  eyes  on  'em 
a  week  or  more  back,  and  part  of  my  business  in  stop- 
ping at  the  Elder's  was  to  put  you  on  your  guard  up 
here  ag'in  the  reptyles.  They  have  been  doing  bloody 
work  in  some  of  the  settlements,  and  it  is  a  marcyyou 
have  'scaped  so  long.  But  it  is  time  to  be  looking 
about  us.  Give  me  a  torch,  one  of  you,"  he  continued ; 
"  but  don't  a  soul  of  you  leave  the  road.  If  there  's  a 
trail,  too  many  steps  would  spile  it  for  the  sharpest 
eyes." 

Taking  a  torch,  the  Scout  walked  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  holding  the  blazing  knot  close  to  the  grass  aod 


202  FOREST  a:sd  shore. 

shrubbery  that  skirted  it.  Every  now  and  then  he 
would  pause  and  send  his  keen,  searching  glances 
along  the  sward  and  among  the  bushes,  noticing  every 
pressure  upon  the  grass  and  every  displaced  leaf  or 
twig.  He  had  proceeded  some  distance  in  this  manner, 
when,  stopping  suddenly  off  against  a  clump  of  high 
bushes,  he  surveyed  them  closely  for  a  moment,  then, 
pushing  his  way  through  them,  he  was  seen  on  the 
other  side,  his  form  bent  closely  to  the  earth.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  returned  to  the  roadside,  with  a  pecu- 
liar smile  lurking  on  his  countenance. 

"  Here,  youngster,  give  me  another  pine  knot,"  he 
said,  addressing  young  Elden.  "  This  hunting  for  a 
trail  by  torchlight  is  pesky  trying  to  the  eyes,"  he 
remarked,  in  a  quiet  tone,  after  he  had  gone  on  a  few 
steps ;  '^  but  I  Ve  got  scent  of  the  varmints.  They 
came  out  yonder  and  seized  the  gal,"  he  continued, 
while  the  party  gathered  around  him  in  anxious  excite- 
ment, "  and  we  shall  find  a  broader  trail  presently, 
unless  she  obsarved  them  and  started  up  the  road  a 
piece  before  they  overtook  her.  Aha ! "  he  exclaimed, 
after  he  had  proceeded  a  rod  or  two,  "  this  is  as  plain 
as  a  guide-board.  Here,  youngster,"  he  added,  ad- 
dressing young  Elden,  thrusting  his  hand  as  he  spoke 
among  the  bushes, "  here  is  something, —  a  keepsake  of 
your  mistress."  And  he  handed  the  blushing  youth  a 
bit  of  ribbon,  which  had  got  detached  from  Annie's 
dress  during  the  struggle  she  evidently  made  with  her 
captors. 

The  men  all  gathered  around  the  Scout,  who  pointed 
out  the  trail  he  had  discovered,  and  a  number  of  them 
proposed  starting  immediately  in  pursuit  of  the 
captive. 


THE  SCOUT.  203 

"What,  follow  that  trail  by  torchhght?  that's  a 
bright  idee,"  said  the  Scout,  in  a  slightly  derisive  tone. 
"  Had  n't  you  better  take  a  drum  to  beat  on  the  way  ? 
An  Injun  ain't  like  an  owl,  to  be  blinded  by  light,  nor 
a  partridge,  to  be  stopped  by  noise.  No,  friends,  the 
best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  go  home  and  to  bed.  I  will 
meet  you  'arly  at  Father  Woodman's  in  the  morning, 
and  see  what  is  best  to  be  done." 

The  majority  of  the  company  concurred  in  the  de- 
cision of  the  old  hunter,  but  two  of  them  insisted  on 
following  up  the  pursuit  that  night,  in  spite  of  his 
remonstrances ;  and,  supplying  themselves  with  fresh 
torches,  they  plunged  into  the  woods. 

"  Wal,  let  them  go,"  said  the  Scout,  turning  with  the 
rest  to  retrace  their  steps  ;  "  a  wilful  man  will  have  his 
own  ^vay.  They  '11 1'arn  their  mistake  before  long,  and 
trust  to  old  Joe  for  the  future.  In  ten  minutes  they  '11 
lose  the  trail,  and  all  the  harm  that  will  come  of  it  will 
be  a  tiresome  tramp,  and  p'rhaps  the  frightening  of 
the  birds  from  their  nests." 

The  old  fellow's  words  proved  true.  In  less  than 
the  time  specified  they  had  lost  the  trail,  and,  after 
wandering  about  an  hour  or  more  in  the  mazes  of  the 
forest,  found  themselves  in  the  road  again,  at  no  great 
distance  from  the  place  whence  they  started. 

"  Consarn  it  all ! "  said  one  of  the  individuals,  as  he 
ascertained  his  whereabouts,  "  I  believe  the  old  man's 
advice  was  correct,  after  all." 

"  Guess  that  p'int  ain't  worth  an  argument,"  briefly 
rejoined  his  companion  ;  and,  with  these  extorted  com- 
pliments to  the  superior  knowledge  of  the  Scout,  the 
party  bent  their  steps  homeward. 


20'i   .  FOREST   AND   SHOKE. 


CHAPTER    XIX 


Early  the  next  morning,  at  the  first  gh'mmer  of 
dawn,  a  number  of  the  settlers  met  at  the  house  of  the 
parents  of  the  missmg  one.  The  countenances  of  the 
aged  pair  too  plainly  told  the  distress  of  their  minds. 
No  sleep  had  visited  their  eyes  during  the  night, 
whose  long,  weary  watches  had  been  passed  in  prayers, 
supplications,  and  tears.  The  party  had  been  assem- 
bled some  time,  and  yet  the  Scout  did  not  make  his 
appearance.  His  prolonged  absence  had  just  begun 
to  excite  remark,  when  he  entered  the  house,  with 
Brave  at  his  heels. 

"We  began  to  fear  you  had  left  us  and  returned 
to  Falmouth,"  said  the  mother,  in  a  voice  weak  and 
tremulous  with  emotion. 

"  What,  and  Annie  in  the  savages' hands  ?  No,  no, 
ma'am ;  Joe  Wier  don't  leave  this  business  until  he 
has  restored  the  lost  one  safe  and  sound  into  your 
arms." 

"But  will  they  not  murder  her.  Scout?  My  poor 
Annie,  would  to  God  I  could  die  for  thee  ! "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Woodman,  in  tones  of  bitter  anguish. 

"  Hush,  wife,  hush  ! "  said  the  husband,  in  a  tone  of 
tender  rebuke ;  "  she  is  in  God's  hands.  His  will  be 
done,  Ehza ;  he  will  order  all  things  aright." 

"Don't  distress  yourself,  ma'am,"  chimed  in  the 
Scout,  with  his  rough  consolation;  "they  will  not 
harm  her.  Why  should  they  destroy  the  gal  ?  They 
are  a  fiend-like  set,  I  know,  when  their  blood  is  up,  and 
think  no  more  of  dashing  a  tomahawk  into  a  man's 
skull  than  I  would  of  crushing  a  worm,  —  and  less,  too, 


THE  SCOUT.  205 

for  that  matter,  for  I  never  do  that  intentionally.  No, 
Mrs.  Woodman,  their  object  is  to  take  her  to  Canada 
and  sell  her  to  some  of  them  infernal  toad-eaters,  who 
put  them  up  to  this  diviltry.  But  it 's  time  to  think 
of  startin'/'  added  the  Scout,  tightening  his  belt  and 
whistling  his  dog  to  his  side. 

The  men  now  gathered  around  him,  proffering  their 
services  ;  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  no,  friends ;  too  many  cooks  spile  the  broth. 
I  Ve  been  out  on  the  trail  this  morning  and  found 
there  were  but  three  of  the  critturs ;  and  Brave  and 
I  are  a  match  for  ary  three  red-skins  that  ever  lived ; 
hey,  puss  ?  You  had  better  stay  at  home,  for  there 
may  be  mor«  out-l^ang  varmints  about  the  settlement 
to  work  mischief  Keep  a  good  watch,  for  they  are 
desateful  sarpents,  and  almost  before  you  know  it  will 
have  your  scalps  dangling  at  their  belts." 

After  three  or  four  had  vainly  urged  the  Scout  to 
accept  their  services,  particularly  young  Elden^,  who 
would  hardly  consent  to  remain  at  home,  Deacon 
Hazleton,  who  had  spent  the  night  with  the  bereaved 
parents,  administering  such  consolation  as  was  in  his 
power,  of  whom  the  ancient  chronicle  says  that  he 
prided  himself  on  having  more  spiritual  discernment 
than  his  minister,  arose  and  said : 

''  Be  it  as  the  Scout  says ;  he  surely  knows  what  is 
best,  and  may  God  grant  that  success  attend  him. 
But,  before  he  leaves,  brethren,  let  us  unite  in  asking 
the  blessing  of  Heaven  on  his  perilous  undertaking. 
Peradventure  the  Lord  will  listen  to  our  prayers,  un- 
worthy as  they  are,  and  make  our  friend  the  humble 
instrument  of  restoring  to  us  the  damsel,  even  as 
18 


206  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Abram  of  old  brought  back  his  brother  Lot  from  his 
captivity  in  the  land  of  Hobah." 

With  this  intimation,  those  present  assumed  devout 
attitudes,  the  Scout  reverently  lifting  his  wolf-skin  cap, 
and  leaning  on  his  long  rifle,  at  the  butt  of  which, 
with  his  head  uplifted,  his  ears  thrown  back  as  if  lis- 
tening, and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  face  of  his  master, 
crouched  his  faithful  companion.  Brave. 

The  good  deacon  wrestled  long  and  fervently  in 
prayer.  He  first  invoked  blessings  on  the  aged  pa- 
rents, beseeching  that  comfort  might  be  vouchsafed  to 
them  in  this  their  hour  of  afiliction;  that  they  might 
be  strengthened  to  bear  up  under  the  cross  laid  upon 
them,  and  that,  whatever  might  be  the  issue  of  this 
trying  dispensation,  they  might  be  enabled  to  say, 
^'  Thy  will  be  done  !  "  He  then  alluded  to  the  captive, 
and  prayed  that  the  maiden  might  be  sustained  in  her 
captivity;  that  her  life  might  be  precious  in  the  sight 
of  the  Lord,  and  she  be  returned  at  length  in  safety, 
a  monument  of  God's  abounding  mercy.  Particularly 
did  he  invoke  the  blessings  of  Heaven  on  the  Scout, 
supplicating  that  his  steps  might  be  directed  aright, 
and  his  arms  strengthened ;  that  the  Lord  would  be 
his  shield  and  buckler,  and  compass  his  pathway  by 
day  and  by  night,  and  make  him  the  instrument  in  his 
hands  of  working  out  the  deliverance  of  the  captive, 
and  thus  bring  joy  again  to  the  hearts  of  his  aged 
servants.  Nor  were  the  captors  forgotten.  He  prayed 
thau  their  hearts  might  be  softened ;  that  the  heathen 
might  be  returned  to  repentance  ;  that  the  bow  and 
the  spear  might  be  broken,  and  they  who  wielded  them 
be  brought  to  delight  no  more  in  shedding  blood. 

"It  was  a  powerful,  searching  prayer,"  the  Scout 


THE   SCOUT.  207 

was  wont  to  say,  "quite  equal  to  any  he  had  heard 
from  Elder  Tufts,  and  ahnost  a  match  for  one  of  Par- 
son Smith's,  down  to  the  old  meetin'-'ouse  in  Falmouth, 
who  had  a  nat'ral  gift  that  way,  praying  often  two 
hours  on  a  stretch,  without  once  breaking  down.  But 
it  was  a  complete  waste  of  words,"  the  Scout  would 
add,  "■  to  pray  for  the  convarsion  of  the  red-skins.  I 
would  as  soon  think  of  convarting  a  she-catamount  any 
day." 

Before  the  long  petition  was  over,  the  Scout  began 
to  show  signs  of  impatience  ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  sono- 
rous "  Amen  "  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  rapt  deacon,  he 
took  the  hand  of  the  weeping  mother.  "  Be  of  good 
cheer,  ma'am,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  full  of  tenderness  ; 
"  there 's  a  good  God  above  us  all,  and  he  will  not 
suffer  the  child  of  so  many  prayers  to  perish.  If  so 
be,"  he  added,  in  a  sterner  tone,  "  she  does  come  to 
harm,  trust  to  the  old  Scout,  the  varmints  shall  rue  it." 

Thus  saying,  the  old  man  shouldered  his  rifle,  and, 
whistling  to  his  dog,  left  the  house,  and  walked,  with 
long  swinging  strides,  along  the  road,  until  he  reached 
the  trail,  when  he  plunged  into  the  forest  and  was  lost 
to  sight. 

We  will  not  follow  him  in  all  his  movements.  Suf- 
fice it  that,  day  after  day,  he  continued  the  pursuit, 
dogging  the  footsteps  of  the  Indians  with  unerring 
precision,  until  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day, 
when,  by  certain  signs,  he  was  made  aware  that  he  was 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  those  he  sought. 
From  this  moment  his  movements  were  guarded  by 
the  strictest  caution.  Every  sense  seemed  to  be  on 
the  alert,  as  he  crept  stealthily  forward,  now  gliding 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  sending  his  quick,  obaervant 


208  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

glances  into  the  surro.i:ncling  forest,  anon  bending  his 
ear  to  the  earth,  hstening  to  catch  the  faintest  sound, 
his  face  the  while  expressive  of  the  keenest  excite- 
ment, like  that  of  the  sportsman  in  the  moment  of 
securing  his  prey. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

""Whist!  whist!  Down,  Brave,  down!  Have  you 
lost  your  senses?  don't  you  hear  them?  can't  you 
smell  the  varmints  ?  " 

In  obedience  to  these  whispered  commands,  the  dog 
crouched  lowly  at  his  master's  feet,  wagging  his  tail, 
and  giving  him  an  intelligent  look,  which  said,  as  much 
as  look  could  say,  "  I  understand  you  now :  forgive 
my  inconsiderateness." 

The  Scout  was  creeping  up  a  wooded  ascent,  and 
had  nearly  attained  the  summit,  when  he  addressed  his 
companion,  who  was  a  little  in  advance  of  him.  The 
southern  and  eastern  aspect  of  the  hill  presented  a 
gradual  though  broken  slope,  well  studded  with  trees, 
but  whose  occasional  openings  permitted  glances  of 
the  surrounding  country.  On^the  northern  and  west- 
ern side,  a  precipice  fell  a  sheer  descent  of  forty  feet, 
with  scarce  a  shrub  to  relieve  the  nakedness  of  the 
smooth  rock.  Trees  and  bushes  grew  to  the  cliff, 
some  of  the  former  leaning  far  over,  as  if  falHng,  men- 
acing whoever  chanced  beneath  with  instant  death. 
But  their  tough,  talon-like  roots  clung  to  the  rocks 
with  a  tenacity  which  defied  the  blasts  of  the  tempests 
to  unloose  them.    At  the  base  of  the  cliff,  half-buried 


THE  SCOUT.  209 

among  the  shrubbery  and  half-hidden  by  the  trees 
whose  branches  swept  its  naked  side,  huge  blocks  of 
stone,  that  had  from  time  to  time  fallen  from  the  hill- 
side, might  be  seen  strewed  around.  At  the  extreme 
northern  part  of  the  hill,  these  blocks  were  heaped 
upon  each  other  in  a  manner  to  afford  a  difficult  and 
somewhat  painful  passage  to  the  plain  below. 

Motioning  his  dog  to  remain  behind,  with  a  wary 
movement,  so  guarded  that  not  the  crackling  of  a  twig 
betrayed  his  step,  the  Scout  proceeded  to  the  edge  of 
the  precipice.  When  there  he  crept  along  the  trunk 
of  a  tree  that  inclined  fearfully  over  the  abyss,  his 
body  partly  concealed  by  the  fohage  of  the  trees,  but 
mostly  by  the  bushes  near  by  that  threw  their  protect- 
ing branches  around  him.  From  this  position  he  had 
an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  scene  below. 

A  momentary  smile  lighted  up  the  old  man's  coun- 
tenance, as  his  keen  eye  took  in  at  a  glance  the  objects 
presented.  On  a  spot  of  greensward,  directly  beneath 
him,  seated  and  lounging  in  easy  attitudes,  were  three 
natives  of  the  forest,  apparently  enjoying  the  luxury 
of  rest,  after  a  fatiguing  tramp.  The  fragments  of 
food  scattered  on  a  block  of  granite,  whose  smooth 
surface  answered  the  good  purpose  of  a  table,  indi- 
cated that  they  had  just  finished  their  evening  meal. 
In  a  cavern-like  recess,  formed  by  the  mass  of  fallen 
rocks,  on  a  couch  of  dried  leaves  and  grass,  reposed 
a  white  girl,  the  long-sought  Annie. ,  Her  countenance 
bore  the  marks  of  intense  grief,  and  every  appearance 
denoted  extreme  fatigue.  She  had  fallen  asleep,  but 
the  short,  quick  sobs  which  frequently  broke  from  her 
lips  too  plainly  evinced  that  hers  was  a  restless  slum- 
ber. As  they  reached  the  ear  of  the  Scout,  his  eye 
18^ 


210  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

glistened,  and  an  expression  of  tenderness,  immedi- 
ately succeeded  by  one  of  fierce  resolve,  flitted  over 
his  countenance. 

While  the  Scout  was  revolving  in  his  mind  a  plan  to 
rescue  the  captive,  his  attention  was  directed  to  a 
sudden  movement  among  the  savages.  Starting  from 
their  listless  attitudes,  they  sprang  to  their  feet,  and, 
seizing  their  bows,  which  reclined  against  a  neighbor- 
ing block,  two  of  them,  after  gazing  at  a  broad  open- 
ing in  front  of  them  for  a  moment,  struck  off  to  the 
left  with  a  quick  and  wary  step. 

For  a  time  the  Scout  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for 
this  strange  movement.  The  cause,  however,  was 
shortly  revealed  to  him.  From  the  base  of  the  cliff 
the  land  spread  out  in  a  broad  plain,  covered  here  and 
there  with  thick  bushes  and  clumps  of  low-growth  trees. 
Casting  his  eye  over  the  different  openings,  in  one  of 
them,  a  long  distance  off,  he  saw  a  herd  of  deer,  some 
of  them  nibbling  the  grass,  while  others  were  sport- 
ing around.  The  remaining  Indian  was  gazing  at  the 
same  objects,  the  sight  of  which  was  too  tempting  to 
permit  him  to  forego  the  sport  so  dear  to  the  hunts- 
man. Throwing  a  hasty  glance  towards  his  sleeping 
captive,  he  carefully  selected  an  arrow  from  his 
quiver,  and,  taking  one  of  the  two  bows  that  remained, 
he  started  in  pursuit  of  the  coveted  prey. 

The  feelings  of  the  Scout  had  become  so  deeply 
enlisted  in  the  issue  of  the  sport,  that  he  forgot  for  a 
moment  the  object  he  had  in  view.  His  gaze  was 
wistfully  directed  towards  the  distant  opening,  watch- 
ing the  deer,  and  it  was  not  until  he  saw  the  herd  first 
,ick  up  their  ears  in  alarm,  and  then  bound  swiftly 


THE  SCOUT.  211 

away  over  a  small  knoll,  that  his  tliouglits  reverted  to 
the  business  he  had  in  hand. 

Lifting  himself  carefully  from  the  tree,  and  putting 
aside  the  branches  that  intercepted  a  full  view,  he 
threw  rapid  and  searching  glances  in  every  direction. 
Satisfied  with  his  scrutiny,  he  left  his  perch,  and  with 
a  quick  step  hastened  to  the  northern  extremity  of 
the  hill,  where  the  fallen  rocks  permitted  a  perilous 
descent. 

Shielding  himself  as  much  as  possible  behind  the 
huge  blocks,  with  the  agility  of  an  Alpine  goat  he 
sprang  from  point  to  point,  and  in  a  short  time  accom- 
plished the  difficult  passage.  Loosening  his  formi- 
dable hunting-knife  in  its  sheath,  in  case  he  should 
have  occasion  to  use  it,  for  he  had  left  his  rifle  on  the 
hill,  he  crept  among  the  rocks  with  the  utmost  caution 
to  the  resting-place  of  the  captive.  To  awaken  with- 
out startling  her,  and  thus  leading  to  an  exclamation 
of  alarm  which  might  prove  fatal  to  his  errand,  he 
felt  to  be  a  difficult  task.  He  knew  there  was  not  an 
instant  to  be  lost,  for  the  savages  might  return  at  any 
moment,  although  he  trusted  that,  led  away  by  the 
ardor  of  the  chase,  they  might  be  absent  some  time. 

Leaning  forward,  he  touched  the  shoulder  of  the 
sleeping  girl.  She  started  at  once,  and,  in  the  first 
confusion  and  alarm,  not  recognizing  the  intruder  on 
her  slumbers,  would  have  raised  a  cry  of  fear;  but  the 
broad  palm  of  the  Scout  was  placed  unceremoniously 
on  her  mouth,  thus  sealing  her  lips,  while  he  stooped 
forward  and  whispered  hurriedly  in  her  ear,  ^'  Speak 
not,  for  your  life  !  Be  not  frightened,  —  look  at  me  ! 
It  is  the  old  Scout,  come  to  save  you.'' 

The  bewildered  girl  turned  her  terror-stricken  face 


212  FOREST   AND  SHORE. 

towards  him,  and  seeing  in  truth  it  was  one  whom  she 
had  frequently  seen  at  her  father's  house,  she  clung 
to  his  arm  with  a  desperate  grasp,  murmuring,  as  he 
lifted  his  hand,  ''  Save  me,  Scout !  0,  save  me  !  " 

'^  That  will  I,  poor  gal,  or  die  in  the  attempt !  "  said 
the  Scout,  deeply  affected  by  her  beseeching  tones 
and  looks.  "  But,  quick ;  follow  me,  for  time  was 
never  more  precious.  Say  not  a  word,  and  tread 
lightly,  for  the  varmints  have  sharp  ears  as  well  as 
eyes." 

Leading  the  trembling  maiden  along  the  rocks,  and 
cautioning  her  not  to  tread  on  the  grass,  or,  if  possi- 
ble, brush  the  bushes  with  her  dress,  lending  his  assist- 
ance, when  it  was  necessar}^,  along  the  broken  way, 
the  laborious  ascent  was  at  last  safely  accomplished. 
On  his  first  ascent  of  the  southern  slope,  the  Scout 
had  discovered  by  accident  an  opening  in  the  hill-side, 
near  the  base,  a  sort  of  natural  cave,  the  entrance  to 
which  was  completely  concealed  by  a  cluster  of 
bushes.  Hastening  to  this  spot,  he  carefully  put  the 
bushes  aside,  and  bade  Annie  enter.  The  room  was 
rather  limited,  but  the  interior  was  dry,  the  floor  and 
sides  of  the  cave  being  of  a  rocky  formation.  - 

"  They  are  rather  snug  quarters.  Miss,  but  all  the 
safer  for  that,"  said  the  Scout,  in  a  low  tone.  ^^  You 
must  remain  here  a  spell,  while  I  mislead  the  reptyles. 
Do  not  move  so  much  as  a  foot  if  you  can  help  it,  for 
the  sarpents  will  be  creeping  about  in  sarch  of  you. 
But  don't  be  skeered,  gal;  keep  up  a  good  heart;  it 
will  be  a  miracle  if  they  diskiver  you  ;  nor  don't  be 
oneasy  at  my  absence,  for  I  may  have  to  take  a  long 
tramp  to  sarcumvent  the  varmints.  I  will  trick  them 
vet.     Courage,  gal,  and  trust  in  the  Scout;  he  will 


THE  SCOUT.  213 

take  you  safe  home  again  ont  of  their  clutches ! " 
With  these  encouraging  admonitions,  he  replaced  the 
branches  with  the  utmost  care,  and  stole  softly  from 
the  place. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Trembling  with  apprehension,  yet  buoyant  with 
hope,  Annie  awaited  the  issue  of  events.  The  deep- 
ening twihght  rendered  her  place  of  concealment 
nearly  dark.  This  she  did  not  regret,  for  she  felt  that 
the  obscurity  of  the  place  gave  a  better  assurance  of 
her  safety.  Literally  obeying  the  warning  of  the 
Scout,  she  did  not  dare  to  move  a  foot,  and  she  sat 
holding  her  breath,  listening  to  catch  the  least  floating 
sound. 

Her  rescuer  had  not  long  left  her  when  she  thought 
she  heard  a  footstep  creeping  in  the  vicinity  of  her 
hiding-place.  A  moment  afterwards  a  slight  rustling 
among  the  bushes  in  front  caused  her  blood  to  run 
cold  with  terror,  for  she  immediately  ascribed  the 
noise  to  some  prowling  savage  in  search  of  her.  The 
very  pulsations  of  her  heart  momentarily  ceased,  as 
the  movement  of  the  branches  showed  that  some  one 
was  forcing  an  entrance  into  her  retreat,  and  she 
crouched  in  the  back  of  the  cave,  as  if  she  would 
bury  herself  in  the  very  heart  of  the  naked  rock. 

But  her  terror  was  of  short  duration,  for,  just  as 
she  was  resigning  herself  to  despair,  by  the  aid  of 
the  dim  light  she  discovered  the  noble  Brave,  who 
was  well  known  to  her.  Wagging  his  tail  with  a  dig- 
nified air,  after  he  had  worked  his  way  in,  he  laid 


214  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

his  shaggy  head  in  Annie's  lap,  as  if  to  give  her 
assurance;  he  then  placed  himself  at  her  feet,  with 
his  face  towards  the  opening,  in  a  watchful  attitude, 
giving  her  to  understand  that  he  had  constituted  him- 
self her  guardian.  And  much  rejoiced  was  the  lonely 
girl  at  his  presence,  for  his  company  was  a  great 
relief  to  her,  and  she  breathed  more  freely  as  she  pat- 
ted his  head,  feeling  that  she  had  in  him  a  defender. 

The  Scout,  in  the  mean  time,  had  gone  back  to  the 
Indian  encampment,  and  seizing  tho  bow  and  some 
arrows  he  found  there,  —  for  he  had,  for  certain  rea- 
sons, left  his  rifle  on  the  hill,  —  he  started  off,  leaving 
a  broad  trail  behind  him.  He  had  not  long  left  the 
place  ere  the  savages  returned,  bringing  with  them  a 
noble  buck,  the  fruit  of  their  expedition.  Some  min- 
utes elapsed  before  they  noticed  the  absence  of  their 
captive,  when  the  whole  party  rushed  to  the  spot 
where  they  had  left  her  asleep.  A  single  glance  re- 
vealed to  them  the  trail  purposely  left  by  the  Scout, 
and  two  of  them  started  in  pursuit.  They  had  pro- 
ceeded but  a  rod  or  two  when  an  expressive  ^'Ugh  !" 
from  the  third  savage,  caused  them  to  look  back.  He 
had  been  on  his  knees,  closely  scrutinizing  the  trail, 
and,  with  animated  gestures,  he  now  beckoned  his 
companions  towards  him,  pointing  to  the  discovery 
he  had  made.  With  countenances  in  which  astonish- 
ment and  fear  were  equally  blended,  they  bent  their 
gaze  on  the  trail,  particularly  on  the  spots  pointed 
out  by  the  one  on  his  knees.  An  unpractised  eye 
would  have  detected  nothing  to  attract  his  notice,  not 
even  the  trail  itself;  but  the  more  acute  perceptions 
of  the   Indian   revealed  to   him  that  the  foot-prints 


THE   SCOUT.  215. 

before  him  were  larger  and  wider  apart  than  their 
captive  could  have  made. 

A  hurried  consultation  immediately  ensued,  after 
which  they  scattered  around  the  spot,  surveying  in- 
tently every  inch  of  the  limited  space.  Their  inspec- 
tion was  of  no  avail,  and  they  once  more  huddled 
together  in  low  and  earnest  debate.  They  were  evi- 
dently at  fault.  The  only  trail  they  could  discover 
was  the  one  before  them.  That  was  made  by  a  man, 
— this  they  were  perfectly  sure  of.  Which  way,  then, 
had  their  captive  fled  ?  They  conversed  for  a  while 
with  rapid  tones,  perplexed  with  the  mystery  of  the 
affair,  until  at  last  one,  who  appeared  to  be  chief  of 
the  party,  seemed  suddenly  to  fathom  it.  Pointing, 
with  expressive  gestures,  to  the  rocks  which  were 
piled  along  the  northern  ascent  of  the  hill,  he  issued 
a  few  commands,  when  his  companions  started  again 
on  the  trail,  while  he  leaped  along  the  mass  of  rocks, 
like  a  panther  in  pursuit  of  its  prey. 

The  Scout  had,  in  the  meanwhile,  been  making  the 
best  of  his  way  in  a  direction  leading  from  the  hill. 
Chance  led  him  to  a  spot  where  was  a  narrow  slip  of 
bog,  which  terminated  in  a  ridge,  or  ledge,  that  ran 
off  to  the  north  for  a  long  distance.  Having  reached 
this  ledge,  he  made  a  few  steps  upon  it,  so  as  to  leave 
his  foot-marks ;  then,  carefully  stepping  backward, 
placing  his  feet  lightly  in  the  tracks  he  had  left,  he 
retraced  his  way  across  the  bog,  until  he  reached 
more  solid  ground.  Stepping  back  to  a  spot  com- 
pletely overshadowed  with  trees,  whose  branches 
were  interlaced,  with  the  utmost  caution  he  swung 
himself  into  the  nearest  tree,  and  creeping  along  lat- 
erally from  limb  to  limb,  with  the  agility  of  a  squirrel, 


216  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

until  he  Lad  attained  some  rods  from  the  trail,  he 
dropped  to  the  ground,  and  concealed  himself  behind 
the  trunk  of  an  ancient  oak. 

He  had  not  been  long  there  before  he  discovered 
the  two  savages  gliding  among  the  trees,  dogging 
his  steps  likd  slot-hounds.  He  saw  them  cross  the 
bog,  hesitate  a  moment  on  the  ledge,  and  then  dart 
along  the  ridge,  as  if  secure  of  their  track. 

^^  There  go  two  of  the  varmints,"  said  he,  with  a 
low  chuckle,  ^^  like  blood-hounds  on  the  scent,  little 
thinking  I  've  played  them  a  'possum  trick  !  I  have 
the  other  reptyle  now  at  my  marcy.  'T  was  well  I 
found  the  bow,  for  the  report  of  a  gun  would  bring 
the  whole  pack  on  me."  So  sa3^ing,  he  started  in  the 
direction  of  the  hill,  and  ere  long  was  stealing  warily 
up  its  southern  slope. 

He  was  not  there  a  moment  too  soon,  for  the  other 
savage,  on  attaining  the  summit,  had  been  prowling 
around  in  search  of  Annie.  The  deepened  gloom  of 
the  evening,  rendered  still  more  dense  by  the  heavy 
growth  of  trees  that  crowned  the  hill,  prevented  a 
discovery  of  the  trail  which  led  to  the  cave.  But  in 
searching  around,  the  Indian  accidentally  approached 
its  neighborhood,  and  would  probably  have  passed  it 
unnoticed,  had  not  Brave,  whose  ear  had  caught  his 
step,  and  who  stood  in  a  bristling  attitude  at  the  foot 
of  Annie,  given  a  low  growL  The  quick  ear  of  the 
savage  immediately  detected  it,  and  grasping  his 
tomahawk,  with  a  snake-like  motion  he  was  approach- 
ing the  mouth  of  the  cave  at  the  same  moment,  and 
with  the  same  wary  movement,  that  the  Scout  was 
approaching  it  in  another  direction. 

From  tree  to  tree,  from  bush  to  bush,  the  wily  sav- 


THE  SCOUT.  217 

age  crept  towards  the  cave,  until  he  had  reached  its 
entrance.  Annie  heard  not  his  approach,  nor  could 
the  sharpest  ear  have  detected  it;  but  the  noble 
Brave,  now  silent  as  death,  stood  behind  the  leafy 
enclosure,  gathered  for  a  spring,  his  bristHng  hair, 
flaming  eyes,  and  formidable  row  of  teeth,  together 
with  his  attitude,  warning  her  of  the  impending 
danger. 

The  Scout,  too,  had  approached  near  the  scene  of 
action,  with  the  fatal  arrow  drawn  to  its  head,  ready  for 
instant  flight.  As  the  unsuspecting  Indian  reached 
forth  his  hand  to  remove  the  bushes  that  concealed 
the  entrance  to  the  cave,  the  twang  of  the  bow  broke 
the  silence,  and  the  well-directed  shaft  pierced  the 
side  of  the  savage,  at  the  same  moment  the  dog,  with 
one  bound,  burst  from  his  covert,  and  buried  his  fangs 
in  the  throat  of  his  victim.  There  was  a  momentary 
struggle,  and  the  athletic  son  of  the  forest  lay  a  rigid 
corpse. 

"  Well  done,  Brave  !  Nobly  done,  pup !  "  exclaimed 
the  Scout  encouragingly  to  the  dog.  "  But  leave  the 
varmint.  Here,  sir !  "  he  added  more  emphatically,  as 
the  dog  seemed  reluctant  to  quit  his  hold,  "  leave  him, 
Brave  ;  he  '11  work  no  more  mischief,  I  consate." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

During  the  enactment  of  this  scene  of  blood  on 

the  outside,  Annie  remained  pale  and  terror-stricken 

inside  the  cave,  every  moment  expecting  to  feel  the 

rude   grasp   of  the   savage.     Her  fears  were   soon 

19 


218  FOREST   AND  SHORE. 

changed  to  the  most  intense  joy,  as  the  low  call  of  the 
Scout  met  her  ears. 

"  Gal,  gal !  come  forth ;  't  is  time  we  should  get 
clear  of  this  place,'^ 

Gladly  did  Annie  obey  the  invitation,  and  with  trem- 
bling steps  make  her  way  from  her  hiding-place.  On 
reaching  the  entrance,  she  started  back,  while  a  low 
exclamation  of  horror  escaped  her  lips,  as  the  bleeding 
form  of  the  savage  lay  at  her  very  feet. 

^'  Don't  be  skeered.  Miss ;  the  reptyle  can't  hurt  you 
now,"  said  the  Scout,  in  a  subdued  but  stiU  exultant 
tone;  then  adding,  as  he  noticed  Annie's  pale  face, 
^'  but  you  look  sick,  gal ;  won't  you  be  able  to  go  along 
a  piece,  for  this  is  not  a  safe  neighborhood  just  now  ? 
—  not  but  that  Brave  and  I  could  manage  the  two  if 
we  were  alone." 

Annie  hastened  to  assure  him  that  it  was  but  a  mo- 
mentary faintness  that  paled  her  cheek,  and  that  she 
felt  perfectly  able  to  travel,  signifying  her  readiness 
to  start  immediately.  Indeed,  the  assurance  of  escape, 
with  the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  endowed  her 
with  new  strength,  and  banished  all  sense  of  fatigue. 

Night  had  now  fallen,  and,  shaping  his  course  by  the 
north  star,  the  Scout  led  the  way,  followed  by  Annie, 
Brave  bringing  up  the  rear.  For  an  hour  or  more 
they  proceeded  on  their  way  in  silence,  with  occa- 
sional halts  to  afford  Annie  a  little  rest.  At  last  they 
made  a  final  stop,  and  in  a  short  time  the  Scout  had 
arranged  a  couch  of  dried  leaves  and  fern,  canopied 
with  branches  of  trees-,  for  his  wearied  companion. 
Annie  was  very  glad  to  avail  herself  of  this  opportu- 
nity for  repose,  for  the  fatigue  she   had  undergone 


THE  SCOUT.  219 

since   her  captivity  had  taxed  her  strength  to   the 
utmost. 

"  There,  my  child/^  said  the  Scout,  as  he  completed 
her  rustic  sleeping-place,  "you  can  rest  here  as  se- 
curely as  if  you  were  in  your  own  father's  house. 
Don't  let  a  single  fear  keep  you  awake,  for  Brave  and 
I  will  protect  you  from  harm." 

Thanking  her  preserver  for  his  services  and  kind 
care,  and  commending  herself  to  One  mightier  than 
man  for  protection,  she  threw  herself  on  her  leafy  bed, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  was  buried  in  a  deep  sleep. 
The  noble  Brave  stretched  himself  at  the  feet  of  the 
sleeping  girl,  while  his  master  sat  on  a  knoll,  a  little 
apart,  his  back  resting  against  a  tree. 

If,  during  the  night,  the  Scout  dozed  at  intervals, 
the  frequent  inclination  of  his  head  in  a  listening  pos- 
ture showed  that  he  was  on  the  alert  to  detect  the  first 
signs  of  approaching  danger.  At  the  earliest  ghmmer 
of  dawn  he  aroused  himself,  and,  ordering  Brave,  in  a 
low  voice,  to  remain  at  his  post,  he  started  ojff  on  the 
route  he  had  passed  the  evening  previous.  He  had 
two  objects  in  view  in  revisiting  the  scenes  of  his 
last  night's  exploit.  He  wished  to  ascertain  if  the 
savages  were  still  lurking  in  the  neighborhood,  or, 
as  he  trusted,  had  become  alarmed  and  retreated,  as 
was  their  wont  on  receiving  a  rebuff;  besides,  he  said, 
he  wanted  to  secure  a  part  of  the  buck  killed  by  the 
Indians,  "  for  it  was  a  pesky  shame  to  leave  such  a 
feast  to  the  tarnal  wolves." 

On  arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  he  found  a 
trail  leading  around  the  hill  to  the  spot  where  the 
savage  received  his  death.  The  body  had  been  re- 
moved, but  he  discovered  it  a  little  distance  from  the 


220  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

cave,  covered  with  branches,  and  hedged  around  with 
blocks  of  stone,  evidently  disposed  to  protect  it  from 
beasts  of  prey.  From  this  hasty  and  rudely-built  sep- 
ulchre he  found  a  trail  branching  off  in  the  direction 
of  Canada,  which  convinced  the  Scout  that  he  had 
no  more  to  fear  from  the  party.  After  scouring  the 
woods  awhile  to  assure  himself,  he  went  back  to  where 
the  dead  buck  lay  untouched,  and,  helping  himself  to 
some  choice  bits,  hastened  to  retrace  his  steps  to  the 
camping-ground. 

The  sun  was  well  up  ere  Annie  awoke  from  her 
slumbers,  by  which  time  the  Scout  had  prepared  a 
rich  repast  of  venison  steaks,  cooked  as  only  an  old 
hunter  like  him  can  cook  them,  which  proved  a  most 
acceptable  dish  to  the  half-famished  girl.  Brave  also 
came  in  for  his  share  of  the  spoils. 

After  a  hearty  meal,  the  party  again  took  up  their 
line  of  march.  Refreshed  by  her  night's  rest,  and  im- 
patient to  reach  her  home,  Annie  won  largely  on  the 
good  graces  of  her  companion  by  her  spirited  endur- 
ance of  fatigue.  Indeed,  freed  from  alarm,  the  novelty 
of  her  situation  gave  a  buoyancy  to  her  spirits ;  and, 
in  listening  to  the  adventures  of  the  Scout,  in  witness- 
ing his  skill  as  a  sportsman,  in  wandering  amid  the 
grand  old  woods,  enjoying  the  beautiful  scenery  con- 
stantly breaking  upon  the  vision,  as  well  as  the  excite- 
ment of  a  forest  life,  all  combined  to  relieve  and 
almost  make  her  forget  the  weariness  of  the  rugged 
journey. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  eleventh  day  since  Annie 
was  taken  captive,  and  her  aged  parents  sat  in  the 
doorway,  conversing  of  the  absent  one.     No  tidings 


THE  SCOUT.  221 

had  been  received  from  the  Scout,  and,  from  his  pro- 
longed stay,  it  was  feared  that  he,  too,  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  red  men,  or  a  victim  to  their  barbar- 
ity. Day  after  day  he  had  been  anxiously  looked  for, 
and,  as  disappointment  succeeded  disappointment,  the 
hopes  of  the  parents  were  fast  giving  way  to  despair. 
If  their  child  was  not  dead,  a  long,  hopeless  captivity, 
perhaps  a  fate  worse  than  death,  was  reserved  for  her. 
Indulging  in  such  forebodings,  the  aged  man  sat  bowed 
in  grief.  So  absorbed  were  they  in  their  gloomy  med- 
itations, they  did  not  observe  the  approach  of  two 
persons,  who  emerged  from  the  forest  that  skirted  the 
side  of  the  house,  one  of  whom  sought,  with  light  step, 
the  back  entrance  to  the  dwelling.  A  slight  noise 
made  by  the  approach  of  the  latter  attracted  their 
attention;  and,  as  they  started  in  surprise  to  their 
feet,  the  Scout  stood  before  them  —  but  alone. 

"  0,  God  !  he  has  returned,  and  alone  !  Annie  — 
our  child  —  where  is  she?"  was  the  hurried  exclama- 
tion of  the  mother,  as,  starting  forward,  she  seized  the 
arm  of  the  Scout. 

"For  the  love  of  Heaven,  tell  us  —  tell  us,  is  she 
living  ? "  gasped  the  father,  in  trembling  accents,  as 
the  Scout  hesitated  to  reply,  his  silence  confirming 
their  worst  fears. 

"  Dead !  dead ! "  said  the  mother,  dropping  the 
Scout's  arm,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  apron,  while 
her  aged  frame  rocked  in  agony. 

At  that  moment,  a  light  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoul- 
der, and  a  well-known  voice,  half-choked  with  emotion, 
said,  "  Mother !  father !  I  am  here ;  here,  safe  and 
unharmed,  —  thanks  to  that  brave  man  !  " 

A  wild  cry  of  joy  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  aged 
19^ 


222  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

couple,  followed  by  convulsive  embraces,  passionate 
exclamations,  and  tears  of  joy.  Taking  advantage  of 
the  excitement  of  the  moment,  the  Scout  stole  away 
unperceived ;  and,  when  the  bewildered  parents  turned 
to  thank  the  preserver  and  restorer  of  their  child,  he 
was  not  to  be  seen.  With  rapid  strides  he  was  hasten- 
ing up  the  road  on  his  way  to  Falmouth,  to  escape  the 
gratitude  of  those  he  had  benefited. 

"  The  sight  of  the  meeting  of  the  poor  gal  and  her 
parents  doubly  repaid  me  for  the  little  trouble  I  had 
taken,"  was  the  simple  response  of  the  Scout  whenever 
this  subject  was  alluded  to. 

The  return  of  Annie  spread  joy  throughout  the 
settlement.  Public  thanks  were  returned  on  the  next 
Sabbath ;  and,  at  the  evening  meeting,  Deacon  Hazle- 
ton  made  her  return  a  subject  of  especial  remark, 
taking  for  his  text  the  words,  "  For  this  my  son  was 
dead,  and  is  alive  again ;  he  was  lost,  and  is  found;" 
which  he  made  the  ground-work  of  a  very  profitable 
and  acceptable  exhortation,  although,  in  so  doing, 
many  thought  he  infringed  upon  the  prerogative  of 
the  minister,  —  in  fact,  anticiiDated  a  discourse  which 
he  was  preparing  for  the  next  Sabbath. 

It  need  not  be  added,  that  the  Scout  never  visited 
the  settlement  without  receiving  a  hearty  welcome 
from  all  the  inhabitants,  more  particularly  from  Annie 
and  her  parents,  while  the  noble  Brave  was  petted  to 
the  top  of  his  bent. 

Here  we  leave  the  Scout.  During  all  our  Indian 
troubles  he  was  always  foremost  to  redress  the  wrongs 
of  the  whites-.  When  peace  ensued,  he  continued  to 
follow  his  wood-craft,  not  scrupling^  we  fear,  when  a 
red  man  came  within  range  of  his  rifle,  to  execute 
upon  him  his  long-cherished  vengeance. 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER 


CHAPTER   I. 

I  love  to  stand  on  some  high,  beetling  rock, 

Or  dusky  brow  of  savage  promontory. 

Watching  the  waves,  with  all  their  white  crests  dancing. 

Come,  like  thick  plum'd  squadrons,  to  the  shore. 

Gallantly  bounding. 

SiE  A.  Hunt. 

He  who  has  never  stood  upon  our  rough,  rocky 
coast  of  the  North,  and  gazed  upon  the  wild  Atlantic 
when  the  breath  of  the  tempest  has  aroused  it  to  fury, 
has  yet  to  behold  one  of  the  most  awful  and  sublime 
pictures  in  the  great  gallery  of  Nature.  The  moun- 
tain and  the  waterfall,  the  forest  and  the  wide-flowing 
river,  the  green  valley  and  the  calm  lake,  awaken 
emotions  of  beauty  and  grandeur ;  but,  if  we  would 
learn  aright  the  might  and  majesty  of  Him  who 
"  taketh  up  the  isles  as  a  very  little  thing,"  and  saith 
to  the  proudly  vaulting  wave,  "thus  far  and  no 
farther,"  we  must  stand  upon  the  border  of  the 
ocean  when  the  spirit  of  the  storm  is  abroad,  when 
deep  calleth  unto  deep,  and  the  mad  billows  rush  in 
from  the  illimitable  expanse,  and  break  in  thunder- 
tones  on  the  rocky  battlements  which  oppose  their 

(223) 


224  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

fierce  career.  We  have  often  stood  thus,  over- 
wlielmed  with  awe,  when  the  very  earth  beneath  our 
feet  trembled,  and  the  atmosphere  was  filled  with 
clouds  of  foam  from  the  watery  avalanches  which 
dashed  in  fury  around  us.  And  0 !  how  utterly  weak 
and  impotent  at  such  times  has  seemed  the  boasted 
power  and  skill  of  man,  when  his  noblest  work,  the 
brave  bark,  has  been  tossed  like  a  plaything  amid  the 
"hell  of  waters." 

The  scene  to  which  we  would  invite  the  attention 
of  the  reader  is  a  spot  on  our  northern  coast,  a  bar- 
ren and  desolate  one  to  him  who  has  an  eye  only  for 
the  beautiful  in  nature;  but  to  him  who  loves  the  bold 
and  rugged  features  which  she  presents,  a  scene  of 
exciting  interest.  For  miles  along  the  coast,  stern 
and  jagged  cliffs  stand  like  giant  knights,  —  earth's 
guardians,  battling  forever  against  the  encroachments 
of  the  sea.  Here  and  there  huge  fragments  of  rock, 
piled  promiscuously  along  the  shore,  show  where  one 
and  another  have  yielded  to  repeated  attacks  of  the 
foe,  still  offering  their  scattered  masses  as  a  rampart 
and  shield  against  the  onset  of  the  wave. 

Bordering  the  coast,  all  is  sterile;  no  green  thing 
relieves  the  monotony  of  the  scene.  Occasional 
inlets,  however,  offer  to  view  a  clean  sandy  beach,  or 
white  pebbly  shore,  up  whose  easy  slopes  the  billows 
glide  with  a  graceful  sweep  and  murmur,  and  linger 
among  the  tinkling  shells  and  glistening  stones  as  if 
loth  to  retire  from  the  gentle  caress, — Earth  and  Ocean 
embracing  in  amity.  Passing  a  short  distance  in- 
land, and  the  delighted  eye  would,  perhaps,  run  up  a 
beautiful  opening,  luxuriant  with  vegetation  and  lined 
with  stately  trees,  crowned  with  the  deepest  verdure ; 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  225 

Eden-like  spots,  appearing  a  thousand  times  more 
charming  from  the  barrenness  of  the  surrounding 
scenery. 

Into  one  of  these  picturesque  openings  would  we 
invite  the  reader,  where,  sheltered  from  the  sea  air  by 
a  rising  knoll,  from  which  a  cluster  of  maples  and  wal- 
nuts have  sprung  with  interlaced  branches,  stands  a 
log  hut,  rude,  it  is  true,  in  its  construction,  but  still 
looking  as  if  made  on  purpose  for  the  spot  on  which 
it  is  reared,  nesthng  there  as  quietly  and  unobtru- 
sively as  if  part  and  parcel  of  the  scene.  The  mur- 
mur of  the  waves  as  they  kiss  the  shore,  or  the  per- 
petual roar  of  the  sea  breaking  in  foam  against  the 
more  distant  headlands,  come  with  a  gentle  and  sooth- 
ing tone  to  the  ear.  A  few  steps  from  the  door  give 
you  a  fine  glimpse  of  the  sparkling  waters  on  the 
beach,  while  a  neighboring  bluff  affords  an  unbroken 
view  of  the  ocean  in  all  its  vastness  and  glory. 

This  is  the  light-keeper's  dwelling;  and  if  ever 
humble  content,  if  ever  unalloyed  happiness,  dwelt 
under  one  roof,  it  surely  finds  a  home  there.  The 
family  consisted  at  the  time  of  our  story  of  the  gray- 
haired  keeper  and  his  wife,  together  with  three  chil- 
dren, who  were  nearly  grown  to  man  and  womanhood. 
A  small  enclosure  some  distance  up  the  glen  contains 
three  or  four  mounds  of  various  lengths,  showing  that 
one  and  another  of  the  little  household  had  loosed  the 
silver  tie.  On  a  distant  headland,  which  juts  boldly 
into  the  sea,  rises  the  white  tower  which  nightly  sends 
forth  its  beacon-light  to  guide  the  ocean  wanderer  on 
his  course.  For  nearly  half  a  century  has  the  aged 
keeper  daily  trimmed  and  nightly  lighted  the  lamps 
that  send  their  star-like  rays  far  over  the  waste  of 


226  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

waters ;  and  never,  when  the  wild  tempest  is  raging, 
does  he  leave  that  stone  tower  without  offering  up  an 
earnest  prayer  for  the  mariner  abroad  in  such  a  night, 
and  time  and  again  will  he  hurry  through  the  dark 
storm  to  his  post,  to  see  if  the  lights  are  in  good 
order,  and  that  no  duty  has  been  neglected ;  for  well 
knows  that  old  man  the  value  of  these  ocean  guides. 

The  extreme  beauty  of  this  isolated  spot,  and  the 
stern  grandeur  of  the  surrounding  scenery,  render  it 
one  of  the  most  pleasant  retreats  during  the  summer 
months  that  can  be  found.  An  additional  attraction 
is  offered  in  the  glorious  sport  here  to  be  obtained;  for, 
from  the  shelving  cliff  or  low  reef,  the  angler  finds 
abundant  employment  for  his  rod,  and  the  aged  part- 
ner of  the  keeper  stands  ever  ready  to  serve  up  in 
a  most  acceptable  manner  the  spoils  you  are  sure  to 
win. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A  wreck  complete  she  rolled 
At  mercy  of  the  waves  :  whose  mercies  are 
Like  human  beings'  during  civil  war. 

Byron. 

"  We  cannot  be  too  particular,"  said  the  old  keeper, 
as  we  stood  one  afternoon  with  him  in  the  lantern  of 
the  lighthouse,  while  he  busied  himself  in  his  daily 
task.  He  was  then  burnishing,  for  the  tenth  or 
twelfth  time,  the  reflectors,  which  were  already  of 
dazzling  brightness. 

"  Humble  as  is  my  duty,  there  is  a  responsibility 
attending  it  only  appreciated  by  those  who  can  realize 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  227 

the  importance  of  a  good  light.  There  have  been 
keepers  through  whose  neglect  many  a  noble  ship  has 
been  wrecked,  and  many  a  valuable  life  lost.  Well 
do  I  know,  too,  by  my  own  experience,  young  man, 
the  value  of  these  beacons  to  the  bewildered  and 
storm-driven  mariner. 

"  Years  agone,"  continued  the  keeper,  as  he  care- 
fully wiped  a  faint  speck  from  one  of  the  glass  chim- 
neys, "  before  the  coast  w^as  dotted  with  lighthouses,  a 
merchant  ship  by  stress  of  weather  was  driven  out 
of  her  course.  For  a  week  the  captain  had  not  been 
able  to  get  an  observation,  nearly  the  whole  of  which 
we  had  been  lying  to  under  a  mere  rag  of  sail.  Our 
captain,  who  was  an  experienced  navigator,  judged 
that  he  had  plenty  of  sea-room,  although  sensible  that 
the  ship  had  made  a  great  lee-drift.  From  what  hap- 
pened, it  was  evident  that  we  were  in  a  strong  cur- 
rent, which  set  us  all  afloat  in  our  reckonings. 

^^  One  night,  soon  after  eight  bells,  the  captain  was 
aroused  with  the  startling  intelligence  of  land  under 
our  lee.  The  gale  was  then  at  its  height,  and  a  tre- 
mendous sest  running ;  and  sure  enough,  as  we  rose  on 
a  wave,  the  dim  outhne  of  coast  could  be  seen  through 
the  dusk  and  mist  of  night.  Where  were  we  ?  Alas, 
no  friendly  light  streamed  its  welcome  beams  over  the 
troubled  waters,  but  all  was  darkness,  uncertainty,  and 
dread.  With  characteristic  coolness,  the  captain  took 
those  measures  which  the  fearful  emergency  demanded. 
But  skill  could  little  avail  us.  All  the  sail  the  ship 
could  possibly  bear  was  put  upon  her,  in  the  hope  of 
being  able  to  claw  off  the  land ;  but  scarcely  had  she 
begun  to  feel  its  influence  when  the  harrowing  cry, 
'  Breakers  under  our  lee-bow ! '  sent  a  chill  through 


228  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

every  vein.  The  ship  was  immediately  hove  on  the 
other  tack,  and,  as  she  came  slowly  tip  in  the  wind, 
and  was  falling  off,  a  loud  report  was  heard  aloft. 
The  foretopsail  was  blown  clear  from  the  bolt-ropes. 
At  the  same  moment,  and  while  the  ship  shivered  in 
the  wind,  from  a  rift  in  the  clouds  a  few  sickly  moon- 
beams revealed  a  long  line  of  breakers  both  ahead 
and  astern.  But  one  course  was  left.  The  anchors 
were  let  go  and  the  masts  cut  by  the  board. 

"  With  fearful  anxiety  did  we  watch  the  strain  on 
the  cables,  and  we  all  breathed  more  freely  as  we 
found,  after  a  time,  that  the  anchors  held.  Thus  we 
remained  for  a  number  of  hours,  until  the  first  faint 
light  of  morning  revealed  more  fully  the  horrors  of 
our  situation.  But  a  few  cables'  length  astern  of  us 
the  billows,  seething  and  foaming,  were  driven  mast- 
head high,  as  they  burst  in  thunder-tones  on  a  long 
line  of  craggy  cliiFs  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 
Save  this  little  cove,  into  which  the  huge  waves  rolled 
with  an  earthquake  roar,  the  eye  rested  upon  nothing 
but  frowning  rock,  chff  piled  beside  cHff,  throwing 
back  the  ghastly  foam,  till  sight  became  lost  in  the 
distance. 

"  With  a  shudder,"  continued  the  old  man,  solemnly, 
"  which  the  bravest  could  not  dispel,  we  turned  from 
this  despairing  view  toward  the  only  hope  which  re- 
mained to  us.  The  anchors  held  their  ground  bravely, 
but  the  parting  of  a  single  link  in  either  of  the  cables 
we  well  knew  would  seal  our  destruction.  With 
what  deep  intensity,  as  the  ship  rose  on  the  broad 
billows,  would  we  watch  the  long  scope  straightened 
out  like  a  whip-cord,  the  chains  stretching  far  along 
the  surface,  under  the  immense  strain,  while  the  ship, 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  229 

like  a  frigbtened  courser,  would  leap  and  plunge  as  if 
striving  to  break  away  from  the  power  that  held  her. 
Had  our  cables  been  made  of  hemp  instead  of  iron, 
Ave  might  have  rode  out  the  gale  in  safety ;  but  with 
the  morning  flood  immense  rollers  hove  in,  burying 
the  ship  from  stem  to  stern.  At  last  one  of  unusual 
size  came  rushing  on  like  an  avalanche,  and  the  cap- 
tain had  just  time  to  shout  ^  Hold  on  all ! '  when  it 
burst  upon  us.  A  sudden  tremor  shook  the  vessel  as 
she  rose  heavily  from  beneath  her  watery  shroud, 
then  a  piercing  cry  burst  from  every  lip.  The  chains 
had  parted !  Heavenly  Father,  may  I  never  witness 
another  such  a  scene  ! 

"  Hope  did  not  wholly  leave  us,"  added  the  keeper ; 
^^  the  dying  still  cling  to  it.  If  we  drifted  on  to  the 
rocks  our  fate  we  knew  was  inevitable,  but  if  we 
could  run  the  ship  into  the  cove  and  beach  her,  our 
chances,  desperate  as  they  were  in  that  heavy  sea, 
would  be  more  favorable.  When  the  tackle  parted 
the  ship  fell  off  into  the  trough  of  the  sea,  and  was 
driven  with  fearful  rapidity  towards  the  shore.  For 
a  time  we  were  cheered  with  the  hope  that  we  should 
drift  into  the  cove,  as  it  laid  dead  to  the  leeward 
of  us. 

"  On  and  on  we  went,  now  struggling  on  the  top 
of  a  billow,  and  now  wallowing  in  the  deep  trough, 
each  man  holding  his  breath,  awaiting  in  agonizing  sus- 
pense the  final  catastrophe. 

"We  were  nearly  at  the  mouth  of  the  inlet,  and 
hope  had  almost  ripened  into  assurance  that  we 
should  escape  the  breakers  churning  around  us,  when 
a  giant  surge  came  heaving  in,  a  perfect  wall  of 
water,  crested  with  a  lurid  foam.  I  was  on  the  quar- 
20 


230  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

ter-deck,  clinging  to  a  remnant  of  the  mizzen-stay,  as 
tills  monster  billow  swept  toward  us.  A  moment  be- 
fore it  reached  us  a  sudden  and  fearful  crash  shook 
the  ill-fated  vessel  to  the  centre.  She  struck  on  a 
sunken  reef  that  makes  out  from  the  cliff  yonder. 
Simultaneously  with  the  shock  the  wave  met  us,  and, 
scarcely  knowing  what  I  did,  I  sprang  upon  its  very 
top,  as  it  rolled  thundering  by  the  wreck.  That  leap 
saved  me. 

"  Whirled  about  on  the  very  edge  of  its  curve,  I  was 
borne  into  the  cove,  the  waters  hissing  and  roaring 
about  me,  and  yet,  above  all  the  noise  of  the  elements, 
there  came  distinctly  to  my  ear  the  last  agonizing 
shrieks  of  my  poor  companions.  Once  only  I  remem- 
ber of  hearing  them,  and  they  were  so  piercing  that 
even  I  shuddered,  though  death  at  the  very  moment 
was  staring  me  in  the  face.  All  after  that  was  chaos. 
There  was  a  sound  in  my  ears  like  ten  thousand  thun- 
ders ;  I  felt  myself  darting  forward  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning ;  then  came  a  strangling  sensation,  and  I 
knew  no  more  until  I  found  myself  high  up  the 
beach,  clinging  with  death-like  tenacity  to  the  coils 
of  sea-weed  washed  in  by  the  sea." 


CHAPTER    III. 

A  beam  of  comfort,  like  the  moon  through  clouds, 
Gilds  the  black  horror,  and  directs  my  way. 

Dryden. 

"  It  was  all  through  God's  mercy,"  continued  the 
aged   narrator,  "  that  I  escaped.     Truly  may  I  say 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  231 

with  the  Psalmist,  ^  He  sent  from  above,  he  took  me, 
he  drew  me  out  of  many  waters.' " 

''  And  were  yon  the  only  one  that  reached  the  shore 
alive  ?  "  we  asked,  as  he  paused  in  his  narrative. 

'^  You  see  the  cliff  yonder,  at  the  base  of  which  a 
low  reef  runs  out,  just  visible  on  the  top  of  the  tide. 
Half-way  up  or  more,  you  perceive  that  it  shelves  in, 
forming  a  narrow  platform.  Well,  on  that  small  shelf 
one  of  the  crew  was  thrown  by  that  wave,  but  shock- 
ingly maimed,  poor  fellow.  He  was  nearly  dead  and 
quite  helpless  when  I  discovered  him,  and  it  was  only 
after  repeated  attempts,  and  the  most  persevering 
efforts,  that  I  at  last  succeeded  in  rescuing  him  from 
his  perilous  situation.  All  the  rest  of  the  ship's  crew, 
numbering  fourteen  souls,  perished. 

"  You  may  imagine  my  situation,  far  away  from  my 
fellow-men  (for  at  that  time  the  region  about  here 
was  entirely  uninhabited,  and  my  nearest  neighbors, 
as  I  discovered  by  chance  some  years  afterward,  be- 
ing a  few  small  fishing  hamlets,  scattered  along  the 
coast,  seventy  or  eighty  miles  distant) ;  thus  isolated, 
as  it  were,  with  my  unfortunate  companion ;  no  shel- 
ter, no  food,  no  hope  of  relief  from  my  kind.  A  dismal 
fate  seemed  to  await  me.  But  man's  extremity  is 
God's  opportunity.  Never,  my  young  friend,  in  what- 
ever situation  you  may  be  placed,  in  the  darkest  hour 
of  adversity,  under  the  deepest  misfortune,  never  dis- 
trust his  providential  care.  He  that  feedeth  the 
young  ravens,  and  marketh  the  sparrow,  that  it  fall  not 
unheeded  to  the  ground,  watcheth  with  especial  care 
over  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Him  ;  thrice  blessed 
be  his  holj  name  ! 

"  My  first  care,  after  rendering  my  suffering  com- 


232  FOREST   AND   SHOnE. 

panion  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  would  permit, 
was  to  cast  about  for  food.  Fortunately,  a  fine  spring 
of  water  was  discovered  early,  near  wliicli,  on  a  bed 
of  leaves,  I  placed  the  sufferer.  I  tlien  went  to  exam- 
ine the  wreck.  With  the  turn  of  the  tide  the  gale  had 
abated,  and  an  off-shore  wind  was  fast  knocking  down 
the  sea.  To  my  great  surprise  (for  I  did  not  expect 
that  a  fragment  of  the  ship  would  be  left),  I  found  that, 
though  the  forward  part  of  the  wreck  was  entirely 
gone,  from  her  main  hatch  aft  she  was  wedged  into  a 
chasm  in  the  cliff,  and  there  remained.  This  discovery 
infused  new  liope  into  me,  and  I  hastened  back  to  my 
companion  with  the  cheering  news.  The  beach,  too, 
was  scattered  with  fragments  of  the  wreck,  and,  among 
otlier  useful  articles,  a  barrel  of  bread,  slightly  dam- 
aged, was  seized  upon  as  a  treasure.  The  dread  of 
starvation  had  now  vanished,  for,  with  bread  and  shell- 
fish at  our  command,  we  had  not  much  to  fear  on  that 
score. 

^^  When  the  sea  had  become  calm,  wliich  was  not  till 
the  second  day,  I  formed  a  raft  from  the  drift-wood, 
and,  after  considerable  difficulty,  succeeded  in  boarding 
the  wreck,  which  at  low  tide  was  high  out  of  the 
water.  My  object  was  to  secure  what  the  sea  had 
spared,  and  my  search  was  well  rewarded.  The  tool- 
chest,  some  spare  sails  and  rigging,  the  captain's  and 
mate's  chests  and  bedding,  were  prizes  I  had  not  cal- 
culated on.  These  were  transported  to  the  shore 
during  the  day,  and  that  night  we  slept  under  a  com- 
fortable tent.  For  a  week  or  more,  while  the  weather 
was  fair,  I  made  repeated  visits  to  the  wreck,  and  in 
the  run  of  the  vessel  found  abundance  of  provisions, 
beef,  pork,  and  vegetables.     Among  the  latter  was  a 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  233 

small  quantity  of  beans  and  corn,  which  I  preserved 
with  care,  for  seed,  in  case  I  should  be  compelled  to 
remain  long  in  this  place. 

"  My  last  trip  liked  to  have  proved  fatal  to  me,  for 
the  weather  had  changed  and  threatened  a  storm,  and, 
there  being  a  pretty  heavy  swell  heaving  in,  my  raft 
was  thrown  among  the  rocks  and  shattered.  I  suc- 
ceeded, however,  in  reaching  the  shore,  considerably 
bruised.  That  night  a  furious  gale  set  in,  and  in  the 
morning  not  a  vestige  of  the  wreck  was  seen.  I  felt 
sad  at  its  disappearance,  I  assure  you,  although  I  had 
saved  pretty  much  all  that  was  valuable  from  it. 
When  that  fragment  of  the  ill-fated  ship  was  gone,  I 
know  not  why  it  was,  but  I  felt  more  than  ever  isolated. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  last  link  that  bound  me  to  my  dis- 
tant land  was  severed.  * 

^'  My  whole  attention  was  now  devoted  to  preparing 
a  suitable  habitation,  and  in  arranging  matters  for  the 
future.  My  wounded  companion  was  getting  along 
better  than  we  had  reason  to  expect,  although  the 
nature  of  his  wounds  was  such  as  to  render  him  a  crip- 
ple for  life,  if  not  entirely  helpless.  It  was  the  spring 
of  the  year,  and,  selecting  a  patch  of  ground  easy  of 
cultivation,  I  broke  it  up  as  I  best  could,  and  sowed 
it  with  beans  and  corn.  Everything  worked  favorably; 
and,  while  I  was  busied  in  rearing  a  more  comfortable 
habitation,  and  in  cultivating  the  soil,  the  time  passed 
pleasantly  away.  I  began  to  grow  attached  to  the 
spot ;  and,  as  there  existed  no  kindred  ties  to  draw  my 
affections  away  (for,  though  young,  I  was  a  lone  man 
in  the  world),  I  grew  to  look  upon  the  place  as  my 
future  home. 

^'  Early  misfortunes,  perhaps  a  constitutional  fond- 
20^ 


234  ,  FOREST  AND   SHOEE. 

ness  for  retirement,  rendered  the  world  less  alluring  to 
me  than  it  generally  is  to  those  of  my  age,  conse- 
quently my  isolated  situation  was  not  so  irksome  as  it 
otherwise  might  have  been.  It  was  different  with  my 
companion ;  his  heart  was  knit  to  many  friends,  and  to 
a  pleasant  home,  and  he  pined  in  his  solitude  with  a 
heart-sick  yearning  which  rendered  life  anything  but 
a  blessing  to  him.     Poor  Tom  !  he  found  rest  at  last.'' 


CHAPTER    IV. 

All  comfort  go  with  thee  ! 
For  none  abides  with  me  :  my  joy  is  —  death. 

ShAE-SPEARK. 

The  desert,  forest,  cavern,  breaker's  foam, 
Were  unto  him  companionship  ;  they  spake 
A  mutual  language,  clearer  than  the  tome 
Of  his  land's  tongue. 

Byeon. 

"  But  I  am  tedious  in  my  details,"  remarked  the  old 
man,  as  he  cast  a  last  look  on  the  blazing  lamps,  which 
he  had  lighted  during  the  conversation,  and  prepared  to 
leave  the  lantern.  "  I  had  no  idea,  when  I  commenced 
these  reminiscences,  of  spinning  out  so  long  a  story. 
It  is  hard  to  stop  an  old  man's  tongue  when  it  once 
gets  going." 

We  begged  him  to  continue,  assuring  him  of  the 
interest  we  felt  in  his  narrative,  —  an  interest  we  trust 
the  reader  shares  with  us. 

"  Well,  then,  we  '11  continue  the  story  as  we  walk 
along  toward  the  house,"  added  the  keeper.  And  we 
left  the  lighthouse  together. 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  235 

^'  This  part  of  the  coast,"  continued  he,  as  we  slowly 
proceeded  homeward,  "  was  at  that  time  rarely  visited 
it  being  out  of  the  track  of  ordinary  trading-vessels 
Since  then  a  large  sea-port  has  risen  up,  as  if  by  magic 
in  its  neighborhood  ;  but  then  it  was  entirely  uninhab 
ited,  save,  as  I  said  before,  by  a  few  scattered  fisher 
men.  For  my  wounded  companion's  sake,  who  was 
pining  for  those  who  mourned  his  absence,  I  kept  a 
diligent  lookout  for  any  chance  passing  vessel,  and  on 
the  bluff  yonder  I  hoisted  a  signal,  to  attract  attention 
should  one  approach  when  I  was  not  on  the  watch. 
But  days  grew  into  weeks,  weeks  into  months,  and 
still  no  sail  appeared,  until  poor  Tom  resigned  himself 
in  despair  to  his  fate. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  busied  with  the  cultivation  of 
my  little  patch,  which  thrived  wonderfully,  and  in 
erecting  a  log  hut,  the  time  passed  rapidly  away  with 
me.  My  companion  rendered  but  little  assistance,  and 
it  grieved  me  to  notice  that  he  daily  grew  more  feeble. 
I  soon  became  sensible  that  he  would  ere  long  leave 
me ;  and,  as  the  conviction  was  forced  upon  my  mind, 
the  full  sense  of  the  loneliness  of  my  situation  stared 
me  in  the  face.  For  his  sake,  I  could  not  regret  his 
departure,  for  life  had  nothing  to  tempt  his  stay.  Here 
physical  suffering  and  mental  anguish  embittered  his 
existence ;  but  in  the  grave  he  looked  for  rest.  He 
had  placed  an  anchor  ahead,  with  plenty  of  scope  to 
ride  out  the  storms  of  life  and  the  dark  billows  of 
death.  He  had  a  well-groiinded  faith  that  he  should 
be  safely  moored  at  last  in  that  haven  where  tempest 
and  shipwreck  are  unknown.  For  my  own  sake,  how- 
ever, I  grieved  the  fast  approaching  event.  His  very 
helplessness  had  endeared  him  to  me ;  and,  in  nursing 


236  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

liim  and  trying  to  alleviate  his  sufferings,  in  cheering 
his  despondency  and  sharing  his  hour  of  triumphant 
joy,  my  mind  found  employment  and  relief. 

"  The  hour  came  at  last ;  and,  with  a  prayer  and  a 
blessing  on  his  lips  in  my  behalf,  poor  Tom  left  me. 
I  felt  a  lone  man  then,  and  for  hours  I  sat  by  the  bed 
of  death,  with  my  hand  clasped  in  his  stiffened  grasp, 
as  he  held  it  in  the  last  struggle.  God  knows  I  have 
passed  many  a  sad  hour,  but  none  so  sad  as  those. 
Life  seemed  a  dreary  blank,  a  terrible  void  spread  out 
before  me,  and  I  would  gladly  have  lain  down  beside 
my  friend  in  the  embrace  of  death. 

"  It  was  a  hard  task  for  me  to  perform  the  duties  to 
the  dead  ;  and,  in  digging  his  grave  under  his  favorite 
tree,  and  in  shaping  his  rude  coffin,  I  would  often 
pause  in  my  work,  filled  with  bitter  repinings,  and 
sometimes  fearfully  tempted  to  make  one  grave 
receive  us  both. 

"  The  melancholy  task  was  at  last  accomplished,  tho 
green  turf  heaped  upon  the  mound,  and  then  the  evil 
spirit  departed  from  me.  With  a  chastened  heart,  I 
bowed  in  humble  resignation  to  His  will  with  whom 
are  the  issues  of  life  and  death.  The  concerns  of  life 
again  gradually  engrossed  my  attention.  I  felt  the 
necessit}^  of  constant  action,  of  keeping  my  mind  em- 
ployed on  something  besides  vague  thought,  anything 
to  keep  down  that  listless  yearning  for  companionship 
which  is  natural  to  all  living  beings.  I  sought  the 
acquaintance  of  Nature,  and  she  did  not  repel  me.  I 
made  the  rocks  and  the  trees  my  companions,  the  birds 
grew  friendly  to  me,  and  their  sweet  minstrelsy  touched 
a  chord  in  my  breast  in  unison  with  their  own  pure 
melody,  and  the  wild  flowers  came  to  me  with  mes- 


THE  LIGHT-KEEPER.  237 

sages  of  love,  and  the  golden  corn  in  my  garden  whis- 
pered to  me  of  the  goodness  of  Him  whose  care  is 
over  all,  and  whose  blessings  never  fail.  A  new  sense 
was  given  to  me,  new  fountains  in  my  heart  were 
opened,  and  instead  of  being  a  solitary  man,  I  found 
myself  surrounded  everywhere  with  a  ^  co-existence 
and  community.' 

"  Sometimes,  for  a  change  of  scene,  I  would  wander 
away  up  the  glen,  or  along  the  coast,  and  not  return 
until  nightfall,  when  I  was  sure  to  be  welcomed  by  a 
robin,  which  I  one  day  rescued  from  a  bird  of  prey 
and  cherished  until  its  wounds  were  healed.  Ever 
after  that,  the  little  thing  courted  my  acquaintance, 
eating  crumbs  fearlessly  from  my  hands ;  and,  when- 
ever I  returned  from  my  walks,  it  would  fly  toward 
me,  alighting  on  my  shoulders,  fluttering  its  little 
wings,  and  chirping  caressingly  as  I  spoke  to  it  and 
stroked  its  plumage.  Sometimes  it  brought  its  mate 
with  it,  who  was  a  little  more  shy  ;  and  I  was  greatly 
afi"ected,  one  day,  when,  after  missing  my  little  warbler 
for  some  time,  it  flew  from  a  neighboring  tree,  and, 
perching  on  my  hand,  commenced  a  peculiar  cry,  a 
warbling  call,  which  was  immediately  answered  from 
•the  tree,  and  presently  two  little  robins,  but  a  short 
time  fledged,  lit  on  the  turf  a  short  distance  from  me. 
The  affectionate  creature  flew  down  to  them,  and 
absolutely  urged  and  coaxed  them  toward  me,  appear- 
ing to  me  as  if  she  had  brought  her  ofi'spring  to  thank 
the  protector  of  their  parent.  Truly, '  God  tempers 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb.'  In  my  despondency, 
after  the  death  of  poor  Tom,  I  had  murmured  at  the 
loneliness  of  my  lot,  and  He  here  had  sent  the  birds 
of  the  air  to  cheer  my  solitude.     Not  more  welcome 


238  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

were  tlie  ravens  to  Elijah  in  the  wilderness  than  were 
these  little  nestlings  to  me.  I  received  them  as  mes- 
sengers from  heaven,  and  knelt  in  gratitude  for  the 
gift- 

"  On  one  of  my  excursions,  I  discovered  a  little 
sandy  cove,  and,  on  visiting  it,  to  my  great  joy  found, 
high  up  the  heach,  and  half-buried  in  the  sand,  a  large 
yawl  boat,  which,  save  a  small  hole  stove  in  the  bow, 
was  not  materially  injured.  By  great  labor,  in  a 
few  days  I  repaired  her,  got  her  afloat,  and  with  a 
small  sail  succeeded  in  safely  mooring  her  in  '  Glen 
Cove,'  for  that  Avas  the  name  by  which  I  had  chris- 
tened the  place  of  my  residence.  I  immediately 
fitted  her  with  a  suit  of  sails,  made  from  the  spare 
canvas  saved  from  the  wreck,  and  frequently  took  trips 
up  and  down  the  coast.  The  only  result  of  these 
vo^^ages  was  a  deeper  conviction  that  the  region  was 
wholly  uninhabited.  I  found  a  number  of  other  coves 
of  inviting  aspect,  but  not  one  spot  on  which  nature 
had  lavished  so  many  beauties  and  advantages  as  the 
one  where  a  merciful  Providence  had  cast  me,  and  I 
always  returned  to  my  pleasant  home  more  satisfied 
"with  my  lot. 

"  I  must  confess  to  a  bitter  feeling  of  sadness  when 
the  changing  aspect  of  nature  announced  the  approach 
of  the  colder  seasons.  The  fall  of  the  leaf  and  the 
departure  of  the  birds  stripped  my  desert  home  of  its 
principal  attractions,  and  filled  my  mind  with  emotions 
of  melancholy  and  induced  feelings  of  loneliness  which 
it  is  difficult  adequately  to  portray.  But  in  securing 
my  crop,  which  was  very  abundant,  in  arranging  my 
household,  supplying  little  necessaries  to  increase  my 
comfort,  and  in   adopting    plans  for  the  future,  the 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  239 

dreaded  season  wore  away  more  agreeably  than  I  had 
dared  to  anticipate.  The  absence  of  my  feathered 
companion  was  a  hard  trial  to  bear,  but  I  cheered  my- 
self with  the  hope  that  with  the  spring  she  ^  would 
return. 

"  I  have  already,  I  fear,  fatigued  you  with  my  tri- 
fling details;  but  I  must  confess  to  you  it  is  a  source 
of  pleasure  to  indulge  in  these  reminiscences.  I  look 
back  upon  those  days,  solitary  as  they  were,  as  among 
the  happiest  of  my  existence.  My  life  was  indeed 
monotonous,  but  if  the  smooth  current  bore  not  on  its 
bosom  the  sparkle  of  worldly  pleasures,  neither  was  it 
disturbed  with  the  angry  turmoil  of  worldly  conten- 
tion. Peace,  like  a  white-winged  angel,  brooded  over 
the  scene.  My  wants  were  few  and  simple,  and 
abundantly  supplied ;  and,  though  I  yearned  for  one 
to  whom  I  might  whisper,  '  Solitude  is  sweet,'  yet  I 
had  every  reason  to  thank  God  that  my  lines  had 
fallen  in  such  pleasant  places. 

"  A  severe  winter  was  followed  by  an  early  spring, 
the  snow  rapidly  disappeared,  and  you  may  imagine 
the  gush  of  joy  I  experienced  when,  one  morning,  I 
was  greeted  by  the  warbling  of  a  bird.  Hurrying  to 
the  door  with  that  nervous  haste  with  which  we  go  to 
welcome  an  unexpected  friend,  conceive  if  you  can 
the  thrill  of  happiness  I  felt,  as  from  its  perch  on  a 
neighboring  tree  my  little  absent  warbler  flew  to  my 
bosom,  fluttering  and  chirping  as  if  overjoyexl  at  the 
meeting.  Can  you  wonder  that  the  deepest  fountains 
of  my  heart  were  stirred,  and  that  tears,  warm  tears, 
gushed  freely  from  my  eyes,  and  that  I  sobbed  in  very 
ecstasy  of  feeling?  It  was  even  so.  My  heart 
Bwelled  almost  to  bursting  as  I  caressed  the  affection- 


240  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

ate  little  creature;  and,  if  ever  pure  and  perfect  happi- 
ness dwelt  on  earth,  it  was  my  guest  on  that  blessed 
morning.  The  world  wore  a  new  aspect  to  me,  the 
sun  looked  brighter,  the  sky  purer,  and  a  universal 
smile  of  cheerfulness  appeared  to  rest  on  nature, 
responding  to  the  sense  of  joy  that  pervaded  my 
being.  Solitary  as  was  the  life  I  there  led,  I  doubt  if 
the  wealth  of  the  world  would  have  tempted  me  on 
that  day  from  that  spot.  I  was  indeed  a  happy  man. 
You  may  not  be  able  to  enter  into  my  feelings.  You 
must  be  placed  as  I  was  placed,  surrounded  by  the 
same  circumstances,  shut  out  from  the  world,  with  no 
living  thing  near  you,  and  then  suddenly  have  a 
guest,  hke  an  angel  from  heaven,  come  to  you,  with 
demonstrations  of  love  and  confidence,  and  that  guest 
a  tiny  bird,  the  most  innocent  thing  under  heaven, 
and  who  finds  in  man  his  most  cruel  foe, — you  must 
experience  all  this  to  fully  realize  the  strong  tide  of 
emotions  that  flooded  my  heart. 

"If  time  and  your  patience  would  permit,  I  could 
detail  a  thousand  little  incidents  connected  with  that 
period  of  isolation :  of  my  employments  and  enjoy- 
ments,— for,  as  you  have  seen,  I  was  not  without  the 
latter,  —  of  my  improvements  in  husbandry,  and  the 
many  comforts  which  gradually  clustered  around  and 
in  my  home.  But  I  will  spare  you  these,  and  pass 
over  two  years  of  my  life,  to  incidents  which  gave  a 
new  coloring  to  my  existence.'' 


THE    LIGHT-KEEPER.  241. 


CHAPTER   Y. 

O'er  the  lone  waters,  without  sail  or  oar, 
She  drifted  on  at  mercy  of  the  waves. 

Old  Plat. 

A  rotten  carcass  of  a  boat,  not  rigged. 
Nor  tackle,  sail,  nor  mast. 

Shakspeare. 

"  You  would  scarcely  have  known  '  Glen  Cove, 
after  two  years  had  elapsed,  so  altered  was  it.  I  had 
enlarged  and  finished  my  house,  pretty  much  as  you 
see  it  now,  my  kitchen  garden  was  extended  and 
highly  cultivated,  and  I  had  a  beautiful  flower-garden, 
into  which  I  had  transplanted  all  the  variety  of  wild- 
flowers  I  could  find.  This  was  a  delightful  task,  and 
threw  a  charm  over  many  an  hour  devoted  to  it,  which 
otherwise  would  have  passed  in  weariness.  During 
these  two  years,  three  times  only  I  caught  sight  ot 
passing  sails ;  but  they  were  at  such  a  distance  they 
only  flitted  along  the  horizon  like  passing  clouds,  and 
were  soon  lost  to  view. 

"  One  morning  in  early  summer,  I  took  my  accus- 
tomed walk  to  the  bluS*  yonder,  whence,  as  you  are 
aware,  an  extended  and  unbroken  view  of  the  coast 
and  sea  may  be  had.  I  did  not  visit  this  spot  with  the 
expectation  of  seeing  a  vessel,  scarcely  with  the  hope, 
for  I  had  grown  so  attached  to  my  new  home  and 
quiet  life  that  I  hardly  had  the  desire  to  change  it.  It 
had  been  my  daily  practice,  however,  to  saunter  to 
this  lookout,  and  I  had  gone  thither  on  the  morning 
in  question  and  taken  my  favorite  seat.  It  was  a 
beautiful  morning ;  there  was  no  breeze,  and  the  ocean 
was  as  calm  as  a  summer  lake,  except  the  long,  smooth 
21 


242  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

swell,  whicli  came  in  and  broke  with  a  soothing  mur- 
mur at  the  base  of  the  cliff. 

"  I  sat  longer  than  usual  this  morning,  gazing  out 
upon  the  placid  deep,  indulging  in  those  reveries  which 
such  a  scene  would  naturally  inspire.  As  I  arose  to 
leave,  I  thought  I  detected  a  small  object  in  the  offing, 
a  little  to  the  eastward,  —  a  dark  speck  merely,  hardly 
visible.  Riveting  my  eyes  upon  it  as  it  rose  upon  the 
swell,  it  struck  me  as  resembling  a  boat.  It  was  evi- 
dently drifting  with  the  current,  for  I  could  not  detect 
the  movement  of  an  oar,  or  anything  indicating  life  on 
board. 

^'  A  boat  adrift  on  the  wide  and  solitary  ocean  is 
always  an  object  of  interest,  and  the  imagination  im- 
mediately invests  it  with  a  thousand  romantic  associa- 
tions. Situated  as  I  was,  the  sight  of  such  an  object 
naturally  excited  an  intense  interest.  Scarcely  wait- 
ing to  take  a  second  glance,  I  hastened  to  the  cove, 
and,  having  placed  some  water  and  provisions  on 
board  my  yawl,  I  shoved  from  the  shore.  The  dis- 
tance of  the  supposed  boat  from  land  was  great,  much 
greater  than  I  had  anticipated ;  but,  with  an  eagerness 
I  can  hardly  account  for,  I  plied  the  oars,  and  slowly 
urged  my  way  toward  the  object  of  my  search. 

"  As  I  approached  nearer  to  it,  I  saw  plainly  that  it 
was  a  boat,  and  I  watched  eagerly,  as  it  rose  on  the 
top  of  the  swell,  to  see  if  any  one  was  on  board.  But 
it  appeared  to  be  completely  deserted.  It  was  a  large 
yawl.  The  painter  hung  dragging  over  the  bows,  and 
a  piece  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  sail  in  the  stern 
sheets  lay  over  the  gunwale  and  flapped  carelessly  with 
the  motion  of  the  sea.  There  was  something  in  the 
appearance  of  this  apparently  deserted  boat,  as  I  ap- 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  243 

proached  it,  drifting  thus  solitary  on  the  great  deep, 
that  awakened  reflections  of  a  sad  and  melancholy 
nature.  What  dark  history  was  connected  with  this 
little  craft?  How  came  it  thus  abroad  upon  the 
waters  ?  Was  it  swept  from  the  storm-drenched  deck, 
or  w^as  it  launched  from  the  foundered  ship,  —  the  for- 
lorn hope  of  the  wretched  crew?  If  so,  where  were 
those  who  embarked  in  it?  Had  they  been  rescued 
from  their  perilous  situation,  or  had  they  perished  mis- 
erably, their  last  husky  cry  being  a  prayer  for '  water?' 
Who  can  tell  ?  Such  was  the  tenor  of  my  thoughts, 
as  I  slowly  advanced  towards  the  stranger. 

"  After  nearly  three  hours'  toilsome  labor,  my  boat 
grazed  alongside  the  object  of  my  search.  Merciful 
Heaven,  what  a  spectacle  was  presented  to  my  sight  I 
My  very  blood  ran  chill,  and  for  a  moment  I  stood  hor- 
ror-struck as  I  gazed  upon  the  scene  before  me.  The 
first  object  that  attracted  my  attention  was  the  form 
of  a  man,  bent  nearly  double,  face  downwards,  over 
the  bow-thwart.  His  head  did  not  quite  touch  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  and  his  long,  matted  hair  hung 
wildly  over  his  fleshless  face.  The  position  of  the 
body,  the  fearful  expression  of  the  face,  the  blackened 
and  shrivelled  tongue  protruding  between  his  thin  and 
parched  lips,  presented  a  horrid  and  sickening  sight. 
In  the  bottom  of  the  boat  was  another,  lying  on  his 
back,  his  feet  over  the  thwart,  as  if  he  had  fallen  back- 
wards from  his  seat,  his  ghastly  and  despairing  look 
too  plainly  evincing  the  agony  endured  before  death 
came  to  his  relief.  0  God  !  it  was  a  terrible  sight,  — 
a  terrible  sight.  As  I  stood  gazing,  in  a  sort  of  stu- 
pefaction,  upon   the   harrowing  scene,  a  low  moan 


244   •  FOREST    AM)    SHORE. 

caught  my  ear,  and  drew  my  attention  to  another 
quarter. 

"  A  piece  of  a  sail  was  spread  over  the  stern  sheets, 
which,  with  trembling  hands,  I  hurriedly  lifted.  Un- 
derneath the  covering  I  discovered  two  persons :  one 
the  mere  skeleton  of  a  man,  so  emaciated  that  it 
seemed  impossible  the  breath  of  life  could  linger  in 
him,  and  by  his  side  a  female  form,  her  attenuated 
hand  clasped  in  that  of  the  man,  and  her  face  buried 
in  his  bosom.  The  glaring  eyes  of  the  former  rolled 
wildly  in  their  sockets,  as,  with  a  feeble,  husky  voice, 
he  exclaimed, '  Water  I  for  the  love  of  God,  a  drop  of 
water  !^  As  he  spoke,  the  female  turned  her  head 
toward  me,  with  a  low,  heart-breaking  moan,  and  fixed 
on  me  such  an  imploring  look  that  the  tears  blinded 
my  sight. 

"  Trembling  with  eagerness,  I  hastened  to  obey  his 
prayers.  But  I  felt  the  necessity  of  extreme  caution 
in  administering  relief.  As  I  presented  the  wooded- 
bowl,  the  man  motioned  me  toward  the  female,  but,  in 
a  low  tone,  she  said,  '  My  father  first.'  And  her  eyes 
glistened  at  the  prospect  of  relief.  I  did  not  dare  to 
let  them  drink,  but  first  bathed  their  parched  and 
blackened  lips  with  the  cooling  liquid,  sufiering  but  a 
small  quantity  to  be  swallowed.  At  first,  the  man 
clutched  feebly  at  the  bowl,  as  if  he  would  drink  off 
its  contents  at  once ;  but  I  checked  him,  and  warned 
him  of  the  consequences  of  a  too  free  use  of  water  in 
his  present  exhausted  state.  Frequently  moistening 
their  lips,  and  cautiously  administering  to  their  wants, 
I  was  rewarded  by  perceiving  in  both  faint  signs  of 
improvement. 

"My  thoughts  were  now  directed   towards  home. 


THE  LIGHT-KEEPER.  245 

Fortunately,  a  light  breeze  had  sprung  up ;  and,  spread- 
ing my  sail,  with  the  yawl  in  tow,  I  arrived  late  in  the 
afternoon  in  the  cove.  My  first  care  was  to  get 
the  sufierers  to  the  house.  They  were  mere  skin  and 
bone,  and  entirely  helpless,  but  a  child  could  have 
lifted  them.  After  preparing  for  them  such  suste- 
nance, suitable  to  their  condition,  as  my  limited  means 
admitted,  I  left  them,  in  the  edge  of  the  evening,  com- 
paratively comfortable,  murmuring  blessings  on  my 
head. 

'^  A  melancholy  task  called  me  forth,  —  the  last  sad 
duties  to  the  dead  were  to  be  performed.  In  a  re- 
tired spot  I  made  a  wide  grave,  and  in  it  deposited 
the  bodies  of  the  two  unfortunate  seamen.  With  sad- 
dened and  subdued  feehngs,  I  heaped  the  green  turf 
over  them,  and  left  them  to  their  last  sleep,  thankful 
that  the  mournful  privilege  of  giving  back  '  dust  unto 
dust '  was  granted  me.  On  returning  to  the  house,  I 
was  glad  to  find  the  sufierers  had  fallen  into  a  sound 
slumber.  The  excitement  produced  by  what  I  had 
witnessed,  and  the  anxiety  I  felt  for  my  patients,  ban- 
ished all  inclination  for  sleep,  and  I  watched  through 
the  night  by  their  bedsides.  Grateful  was  the  prayer 
I  breathed  over  them,  that  I  had  been  the  instrument 
in  rescuing  them  from  their  dreadful  situation,  and 
ardently  did  I  beseech  the  Father  of  mercy  to  crown 
with  success  the  means  used  for  their  restoration  to 
health.  The  sleep  of  the  father  seemed  to  be  deep 
and  undisturbed,  but  frequently  through  the  night 
would  the  young  lady  utter  broken  exclamations,  in 
all  which  a  lively  and  afi'ecting  concern  for  her  father 
was  manifest.  Once  she  exclaimed,  in  piteous  accents, 
*  Water,  water !  0  God,  have  mercy  upon  my  poor 
21* 


246  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

father ! '  And  in  all  the  workings  of  her  mind  there 
appeared  to  be  a  total  forgetfulness  of  self;  her  whole 
thought  and  care  seemed  to  centre  in  her  parent,  and 
all  her  prayers  were  invoked  in  his  behalf.  It  was  a 
beautiful  and  touching  display  of  filial  love,  and  my 
heart  thus  early  took  a  deep  interest  in  one  who  un- 
consciously betrayed  so  endearing  a  trait  of  character. 
The  tones  of  the  human  voice,  though  tremulous  and 
sorrowful,  were  to  my  unaccustomed  ears  sweet  and 
musical,  and  awoke  in  me  all  the  instincts  of  humanity, 
and  restored  anew  that  interest  for  my  kind  which 
continued  solitude  had  nearly  banished  from  my  heart. 

"  A  night's  rest  greatly  refreshed  and  improved  my 
new  tenants,  and,  after  three  or  four  days'  careful 
nursing,  the  daughter  was  so  far  recovered  as  to 
assist  in  tending  on  her  father,  whose  improvement 
was  slow  and  doubtful.  His  health,  I  was  informed, 
had  been  for  a  number  of  years  feeble,  and  the  dread- 
ful trial  he  had  passed  through  had  shattered  it  still 
more,  rendering  the  chances  of  his  recovery  ex- 
tremely uncertain.  From  the  lips  of  his  daughter  I 
learned  the  sad  story  of  their  suffering  on  the  sea, 
and  their  previous  history  was  revealed  to  me  after- 
wards. 

"  Mr.  Morton,  the  father,  was  a  retired  merchant  of 
one  of  our  Northern  States.  The  death  of  his  wife,  to 
whom  he  was  most  ardently  attached,  and  the  subse- 
quent loss  of  the  greater  portion  of  his  property 
through  his  own  unfortunate  speculations  and  the  vil- 
lany  of  others,  had  preyed  upon  his  spirits,  and  seri- 
ously affected  his  health.  His  physician  had  advised 
a  short  residence  in  Santa  Croix,  an  island  considered 
peculiarly  adapted  in  its   climate  for  persons  in  ill 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  247 

lealth.  In  accordance  with  tliis  advice,  he  had  vis- 
ited the  island,  taking  with  him  his  only  child,  a 
daughter,  just  entering  on  the  bloom  of  womanhood. 
After  a  protracted  residence  of  two  years  or  more, 
finding  that  his  disease  continued  to  grow  upon  him, 
he  concluded  to  return  to  his  native  land,  that,  in  case 
of  his  anticipated  death,  he  might  rest  beside  the 
partner  he  so  constantly  mourned. 

"  Accordingly,  he  took  passage  in  a  freighting  brig, 
on  board  of  which  he  also  shipped  the  small  remnant 
of  property  misfortune  had  spared  to  him.  The  brig, 
which  was  an  old  one,  was  heavily  laden  with  sugars, 
and  encountered  very  boisterous  weather  on  her  pas- 
sage, which  caused  her  to  leak  badly.  They  had  been 
out  about  twenty  days,  when  one  night  a  fresh  leak 
was  discovered,  and  it  was  found  that  the  hands  at 
the  pumps,  wearied  by  incessant  toil  day  and  night, 
could  not  keep  her  free.  The  water  gained  fast  upon 
them,  and  in  despair  the  crew  left  the  pumps,  and  pro- 
posed abandoning  the  brig.  But  little  time  was  left 
for  consultation,  for  it  was  found  that  the  water  was 
working  in  so  rapidly,  the  brig  was  liable  every  mo- 
ment to  go  to  the  bottom.  The  long-boat  and  yawl 
were  prepared  for  the  last  emergency.  There  were 
other  passengers  on  board,  and  a  division  hastily  took 
place.  The  father  and  daughter,  with  five  of  the 
crew,  were  assigned  to  the  yawl ;  the  remainder  took 
to  the  long-boat,  on  board  of  which  the  bulk  of  the 
provisions  and  water  was  stowed,  a  small  quantity 
only  being  retained  in  the  yawl,  as  it  was  deemed  ex- 
pedient to  keep  her  as  light  as  possible. 

"  The  fated  vessel  began  shortly  to  settle  by  the 
head,  and  the  boats  were  launched  in  the  gray  of 


248  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

morning.  They  left  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for  they 
had  rowed  but  a  short  distance  off,  when,  with  a  lurch 
and  a  plunge,  the  brig  was  buried  beneath  the  billows. 
The  boats  were  then  shaped  toward  the  nearest  land, 
and  slowly  and  toilsomely  did  the  weary  crew  ply  the 
oars.  Day  followed  day;  no  land,  no  vessel  appeared. 
Provisions  grew  short,  and,  to  add  to  the  horror  of  at 
least  one  party,  one  dark  and  blustering  night  the 
boats  got  parted  from  each  other,  and  when  the  morn- 
ing came,  those  in  the  yawd  looked  round  in  vain  for 
their  companions.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  did  the 
full  sense  of  their  miserable  situation  stare  them  in 
the  face.  With  hardly  bread  and  water  sufficient  for 
one  day's  sustenance,  with  no  knowledge  of  their 
position,  a  fearful  fate  was  before  them. 

"It  is  unnecessary  that  I  should  follow  them  through 
the  appalling  scenes  that  ensued  up  to  the  time  I  dis- 
covered them.  In  their  dehrium,  brought  on  by  want 
of  food  and  water,  three  of  the  crew  plunged  into  the 
Bea  at  different  times,  two  died  on  board,  and  the 
father  and  daughter  were  left  the  only  survivors. 
The  father  ascribed  his  preservation  to  the  fact  of  his 
being  in  feeble  health,  so  that  he  felt  not  that  craving 
for  food  which  tortured  his  robust  and  hearty  com- 
panions. As  for  the  daughter,  she  was  sustained  by 
that  mysterious  power  of  endurance  which  God  has 
seen  fit  to  bestow  on  woman,  and  which  enables  her 
to  bear  up  triumphantly  amid  scenes  and  in  situations 
where  man,  with  all  his  boasted  superiority  of  nerve 
and  strength,  is  crushed.  So  they  two  lingered,  wit- 
nessing one  strong  man  after  another  fall  before  them, 
until  they  alone  of  all  that  company  remained.  When 
the  last  man  fell  from  his  seat  in  the  agonies  of  death, 


THE   LIGHT'KEEPER.  249 

the  daughter  placed  herself  beside  her  father,  and, 
drawing  a  part  of  the  sail,  which  her  father  from  the 
first  had  used  as  bed  and  covering,  over  their  faces, 
she  had  laid  herself  down  to  die.  Hope  had  fled, 
despair  itself  had  fled,  and  both  were  fast  sinking  in 
that  deep  lethargy  which  precedes  death,  —  the  only 
boon  they  now  looked  for,  —  when  my  providential 
presence  awoke  anew  the  love  of  life. 

"  Such,  in  brief,  was  the  sad  history  of  the  two  per- 
sons thrown  on  my  care.  Need  I  say  that  its  relation 
excited  a  deeper  interest,  if  possible,  in  my  breast 
toward  them  ?  My  own  history  was  given  in  return, 
from  the  day  of  my  first  being  thrown  upon  this  spot 
down  to  the  hour  I  met  them ;  and,  in  mingling  our 
sympathies,  in  uniting  our  grateful  aspirations  to  Him 
who  had  so  wonderfully  preserved  us,  our  hearts  be- 
came knitted  together.'^ 


CHAPTER    VI. 

With  thee  all  toils  are  sweet ;  each  clime  hath  charms  ; 
Earth,  sea  alike,  our  -world  within  our  arms. 

Byeon. 

0,  if  good  Heaven  would  be  so  much  my  friend 
To  let  my  fate  upon  my  choice  depend. 
All  my  remains  of  life  -with  you  I  'd  spend. 
And  think  my  stars  had  given  a  happy  end. 

Oldham. 

'^  While  Mr.  Morton  continued  with  but  very  little 
perceptible  change  in  his  favor,  Emma  (for  that  was 
the  name  of  the  daughter)  rapidly  regained  the  bloom 


250  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

of  health  and  beauty.  With  the  most  tender  devoted- 
ness  would  she  attend  upon  her  parent,  hovering 
ever  by  his  bedside,  anxious  to  anticipate  his  shghtest 
want. 

"  At  times,  however,  at  his  urgent  request  she 
would  walk  abroad  for  exercise ;  and  together  would 
we  ramble  up  the  glen,  searching  out  its  hidden  beau- 
ties, the  little  green  nooks  and  fairy-like  spots  with 
which  it  abounds,  returning  loaded  with  wild  flowers, 
with  which  our  dwelling  was  decorated  like  a  floral 
palace.  At  other  times  we  would  stroll  by  the  sea- 
shore, gathering  the  delicate  and  curious  shells  washed 
up  by  the  sea,  or  roam  amid  the  caverns  and  clifis,  lis- 
tening to  the  unceasing  roar  of  the  waters.  And  she 
possessed  a  spirit  to  enjoy  these  various  aspects  of 
nature,  and  with  an  unafiected  delight  and  unstudied 
eloquence  she  gave  expression  to  the  emotions  which 
the  changing  scene  awakened ;  whether  she  was  bend- 
ing over  the  tiny  wild  floAver,  half-hidden  in  its  cushion 
of  moss,  or  stood  upon  the  brink  of  the  dizzy  clifi*, 
gazing  with  a  kindling  eye  upon  the  waters  whirling 
and  seething  with  foam  far  below  her.  And  as  I  ac- 
companied her  amidst  places  so  familiar  to  my  foot- 
steps, and  conversed  with  her  in  relation  to  the 
grandeur  and  beauty  that  met  us  on  every  hand,  I 
wondered  that  never  before  had  I  felt  such  an  inter- 
est, never  before  had  discovered  so  many  secret 
attractions  in  objects  so  constantly  presented  to  my 
observation. 

"  In  process  of  time  Mr.  Morton  so  far  regained  his 
strength  as  to  be  able  to  leave  the  house  and  take 
short  excursions  with  us ;  and  it  was  with  no  small 
degree  of  pleasure,  mingled  with  pride,  that  I    ob 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  251 

served  the  undisguised  delight  he  took  in  the  pictu- 
resque beauties  of  the  glen,  and  the  strong  interest  he 
manifested  in  all  that  concerned  the  arrangements  of 
the  place,  and  listened  to  the  encomiums  he  passed 
upon  the  taste  displayed  in  its  improvements.  He 
was  a  man  of  strong,  enthusiastic  temperament;  a  close 
and  critical  observer;  his  mind  had  evidently  been 
highly  poHshed;  and,  above  all,  he  possessed  that  pure 
and  lofty  spirit  of  Christianity  which  sheds  such  a 
beautiful  halo  around  the  character.  He  had  been 
chastened,  severely  chastened,  by  affliction ;  he  had 
bowed  beneath  the  rod,  but  not  submissively.  But 
now  a  new  and  better  light  dawned  upon  him;  the  veil 
which  had  so  long  shrouded  his  vision  was  withdrawn; 
he  groped  no  more  in  shadows;  and,  with  the  poet,  he 
was  ready  to  exclaim,  ^  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adver- 
sity,' and  to  acknowledge  that  ^  through  danger  safety 
comes,  through  trouble  rest.' 

*^  With  such  companionship,  need  I  say  that  a  new 
coloring  was  given  to  my  life,  that  the  cup  of  my  hap- 
piness was  full  to  overflowing.  Even  so.  I  trembled 
at  times  lest  it  should  be  suddenly  dashed  from  my 
lips.  I  dreaded  now  every  day  that  some  vessel 
should  draw  nigh  and  rob  me  of  those  in  whose  soci- 
ety centred  all  my  happiness ;  and  it  was  with  a 
shrinking  feeling  aUied  to  fear  that  I  daily  approached 
the  cliff  whence  the  broad  ocean  spread  out  before  me, 
apprehensive  that  some  vessel  might  by  chance  be  in 
sight,  with  whom  communication  might  be  had.  I 
know  not  why  these  feelings  oppressed  me,  for  my 
companions  had  never  even  hinted  a  desire  of  leav- 
ing, but  on  the  contrary  had  frequently  and  always 
favorably  alluded  to  the  happy  seclusion  in  which  we 


252  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

lived.  Still,  I  was  uneasy,  and  dared  not  question 
them  particularly  on  the  subject. 

"  One  day  I  had  visited  the  look-out  in  company 
with  Emma,  and,  as  we  stood  gazing  out  upon  the 
ocean,  our  conversation  turned  upon  our  isolated  sit- 
uation, and  I  alluded  to  the  possibility  of  some  passing 
sail  approaching  the  coast,  affording  to  herself  and 
father  an  opportunity  of  returning  to  the  home  from 
which  they  had  been  so  long  separated. 

"  0,  what  a  weight  was  lifted  from  my  heart,  as  in  an 
earnest  tone  my  companion  quickly  replied,  ^  Home  ? 
We  have  no  home,  we  want  no  home,  but  this ! ' 

"  ^  And  could  you  be  content,'  I  asked,  in  a  manner 
which  at  once  arrested  her  attention,  '  to  remain  in 
this  solitude,  away  from  the  world,  from  your  friends, 
and  forever  debarred  the  allurements  of  society  ? ' 

"  A  blush  overspread  her  face  as  she  replied,  ^  The 
world,  why  should  I  regret  it?  I  had  but  few  friends 
of  my  age,  and  they  have  probably  long  ago  forgotten 
me.  Where  my  father  is,  there  is  my  home.  He  is 
happy  here,  and  why  should  not  I  be  also  ? ' 

" '  But  would  he  not  leave  if  an  opportunity  of- 
fered?' I  inquired,  with  an  anxious  earnestness  I 
could  not  conceah 

'^ '  Not  if  he  could  persuade  you  to  permit  him  to 
remain,'  was  her  reply.  '  This  he  told  me  yesterday, 
as  we  were  conversing  upon  this  subject;  and,  my 
dear  friend,  if  you  have  been  fearful,  as  I  judge  from 
your  late  saddened  tone,  that  we  should  be  so  ungrate- 
ful as  to  desire  to  part  from  one  to  whom  we  are 
indebted  not  only,  under  God,  for  hfe,  but  for  all  the 
kindnesses  which  render  life  a  blessing,  dismiss  such 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  253 

thoughts  from   your  breast,  and   set  your  heart  at 
rest.' 

"  And  my  heart  was  at  rest.  Nay,  nay,  not  at  rest, 
for  it  was  agitated  by  a  thousand  blissful  emotions. 
The  kind  —  more  than  this,  the  affectionate  —  tones  in 
which  Emma  conversed  with  me  as  we  slowly  walked 
homeward,  the  air  of  confidence  she  assumed,  the 
warm  terms  in  which  she  spoke  of  the  attractions  of 
Glen  Cove,  and  the  glowing  picture  wdiich  she  drew 
of  the  happiness  here  to  be  found,  away  from  the 
glare  of  the  world,  the  bitterness  and  strife  which 
there  exist,  with  no  distracting  cares,  no  mocking 
pleasures  to  win  us  away  from  those  lofty  and  enno- 
bling thoughts  which  a  constant  contemplation  of  the 
grand  and  beautiful  in  nature  tend  to  excite, —  all  this 
thrilled  me  with  feelings  as  new  as  they  were  strange, 
and  awakened  in  my  bosom  sweet  hopes  which  ere 
this  I  had  not  dared  to  entertain." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

^         He  says  he  loves  my  daughter. 
I  think  so  too;  for  never  gaz'd  the  moon 
Upon  the  water  as  he  '11  stand,  and  read, 
As  'twere,  my  daughter's  eyes  :  and,  to  be  plain, 
I  think  there  is  not  half  a  kiss  to  choose 
Who  loves  another  best. 

Shakspeare's  Winter's  Tale. 

"  You    have   doubtless,   ere    this,''   continued    the 

keeper  with  a  warm  smile,  "detected  the  nature  of  the 

emotions  thus  kindled  in  my  breast.     Yes,  I  loved 

Emma  with  no  common  love.     My  whole  being  wa3 

22 


254  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

wrapped  up  in  her.  Her  presence  was  as  necessary 
to  me  as  the  hght  of  heaven,  nor  was  it  denied  me. 
Even  my  Httle  bird  seemed  instinctively  to  partake  of 
my  feehngs,  for  in  a  short  time  it  became  as  famihar 
to  her,  perching  on  her  hand  with  the  same  freedom 
with  which  it  sought  mine. 

^^  Under  her  fostering  care  the  very  flowers  seemed 
to  bloom  with  increased  loveliness.  Together  had  we 
searched  the  glen,  transplanting  such  rare  plants  and 
flowers  as  attracted  our  notice,  until  my  little  domain 
appeared  like  a  fairy  scene.  With  the  suggestions  and 
assistance  of  Mr.  Morton,  aided  by  the  good  taste  of 
Emma,  a  thousand  little  improvements  were  made  in 
and  about  our  dwelling,  all  tending  to  enhance  the 
comfort  and  beauty  of  the  place.  Destitute  of  many 
of  the  conveniences  of  domestic  life,  we  resorted  to 
numerous  contrivances  to  supply  the  deficiency  ;  and 
never  was  a  gold  plate  on  a  monarch's  table  more 
valued  than  were  the  humble  dishes  of  stone,  wood, 
arid  shell,  which  graced  our  board.  Nor  was  that 
board  illy  supplied.  Our  garden  afforded  us  all  neces- 
sary vegetables,  the  sea  yielded  us  fish,  and  the  glen 
abounded  in  wild  fruits,  so  that  we  enjoyed  not  only 
the  necessaries  but  many  of  the  luxuries  of  life. 

"  A  few  days  after  my  conversation  with  Emma  on 
the  cliff,  Mr.  Morton  took  occasion  to  allude  to  the 
same  subject.  Possibly,  he  said,  an  opportunity  might 
offer  to  leave  the  place,  but  he  had  now  nothing  to 
draw  him  back  to  society.  His  property  was  gone, 
his  relish  for  worldly  intercourse  had  left  him,  and  all 
he  desired  in  life,  peace  and  contentment,  here  sur- 
rounded him.  He  would  not  say  he  regretted  being 
a  burden  on  me,  for  be  felt  assured  that  I  did  not  con- 


THE    LTGHT-KEEPER.  2oO 

sider  the  presence  of  himself  and  daughter  in  that 
light.  In  alluding  to  his  daughter  in  connection  with 
the  precarious  state  of  his  health,  an  opportunity  was 
offered,  which  I  had  long  desired,  of  making  him 
acquainted  with  the  state  of  my  feehngs  in  regard  to 
her.  Frankly  and  fully  I  unfolded  to  him  the  secrets 
of  my  heart,  unreservedly  informing  him  of  the  feel- 
ings with  which  she  had  inspired  me,  and  of  the  hopes 
I  had  cherished. 

"  He  heard  me  throughout  without  interrupting  me, 
and  when  I  had  concluded  he  said,  with  a  smile,  '  All 
this  is  no  new  thing  to  me,  Robert ;  months  ago  it  was 
revealed  to  me.' 

"  '  Revealed  to  you  !  —  months  ago  ! '  was  my  aston- 
ished reply. 

" '  Yes,  my  dear  young  friend,'  he  answered.  '  Even 
before,  I  suspect,  you  yourself  was  fully  aware  of  it, 
I  knew  it.  The  heart  too  often  betrays  itself  to  others 
ere  it  is  aware  of  its  own  secrets.  Actions  have  a 
very  forward  tongue,  and  babble  many  things  of  which 
the  individual  himself  has  hardly  as  yet  dreamed.  Yes, 
I  knew  it  all,  for  a  father's  sight  is  keen ;  and,'  added 
he,  taking  my  hand  affectionately, '  I  rejoiced  in  it  all. 
Need  I  say,  Emma's  heart  is  yours ;  take  her,  and,  with 
mine,  may  the  blessing  of  Heaven  rest  upon  you 
both  ! ' 

"  It  is  common  with  all  story-tellers,"  continued  the 
aged  keeper,  as  we  reached  the  precincts  of  his  hum- 
ble dwelling,  and  seated  ourselves  by  the  doorway, 
"  to  wind  up  with  a  wedding  or  a  funeral,  and  I  sup- 
pose you  will  not  be  contented  if  I  deviate  from  the 
prescribed  method.  I  need  not  say  that  the  '  blushing 
consent'  of  Emma   was  without   difficulty  obtained. 


256  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Our  preparations  for  the  wedding  were  very  few,  and 
were  soon  completed.  But  then  came  the  question, 
who  will  perform  the  marriage  ceremony?  We  had 
gone  on  making  our  arrangements,  until,  ^11  of  a  sud- 
den, this  serious  obstacle  presented  itseli'  on  the  very 
threshold  of  Hymen's  temple.  Never  shall  I  forget 
the  moment  when  Emma,  who  was  intently  engaged 
on  some  little  preliminary  affair,  looked  up  from  her 
work,  with  a  perplexed  air,  and  said,  ^  But  how  shall 
we  get  married  ? ' 

"  There  was  something  in  the  tone  in  which  this  was 
uttered,  something  so  ludicrous,  I  suspect,  in  the  ex- 
pression of  each  of  our  countenances,  as  this  wholly 
unthought-of  dilemma  suddenly  occurred  to  our  minds, 
that  both  of  us  burst  involuntarily  into  a  hearty 
laugh,  in  which  Mr.  Morton,  who  at  that  moment  came 
in,  as  heartily  joined. 

"  After  we  had  sobered  down  a  little,  we  began  more 
seriously  to  consider  the  unforeseen  obstacle.  What 
should  we  do?  was  the  question  repeatedly  asked; 
and  it  was  the  very  question  we  could  not  for  the  life 
of  us  answer.  We  talked  it  over  a  long  time,  and 
Emma  and  I  began  to  grow  a  little  sad  on  the  sub- 
ject  " 

"  Nonsense,  Robert ;  you  was  the  only  sad  one,"  said 
the  keeper's  wife,  as  she  took  her  seat  beside  her 
husband,  and  looked  up  into  his  face  with  an  affec- 
tionate smile;  '^what  cause  had  I  for  sadness,  pray?" 

"Well,  well,  wife,"  said  the  old  man,  kindly,  "if you 
were  not  sad,  I  was,  and  should  have  been  still  more 
so,  had  not  your  father  helped  us  out  of  the  dilemma. 
^  Where  there  is  a  will  there  's  a  way,'  said  he  ;  *  and  it 
will  go  hard  if  we  do  not  accomplish  your  wishes^ 


THE   LIGHT-KEEPER.  257 

even  without  the  aid  of  a  minister.  Let  me  think/ 
continued  he :  ^  my  justice  commission  holds  good 
until  next  year,  if  I  am  not  mistaken ;  and  I  can  bind 
you  as  legally  together  as  all  the  ministers  in  Christen- 
dom. So  stand  up,  my  children.'  And,  joining  our 
hands  in  his,  he  performed  the  necessary  rites,  invok- 
ing at  the  same  time  a  blessing  on  our  heads,  —  and 
we  were  husband  and  wife !  It  was  a  hurried  wed- 
ding, but  it  was  a  happy  one,  and  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  has  rested  upon  it  from  that  hour  to  this. 
And  now,"  continued  the  keeper,  as  he  arose  from  his 
seat  and  turned  to  enter  the  house,  "  after  this  long 
story,  let  us  see  what  the  good  woman  has  prepared 
for  supper.  We  have  kept  you  waiting,  wife,  but  we 
have  not  been  unmindful  of  you,  for  I  have  been  giv- 
ing our  young  friend  a  history  of  our  lives,  —  a  his- 
tory which,  though  shadowed  in  its  commencement, 
hath  ever  since  beamed  with  the  radiance  of  Heaven's 
choicest  blessings." 
22* 


THE   SETTLERS. 

A    TALE    OF    THE    FOREST. 


CHAPTER   I. 

The  month  of  October,  to  us  of  the  North,  where 
the  scene  of  our  story  is  laid,  is  one  of  the  most  de- 
lightful in  the  year.  Then  Nature  is  robed  in  her 
most  magnificent  garments.  He  who  has  never  seen 
a  New  England  forest  after  the  first  frosts  of  autumn 
have  touched  it,  has  yet  to  behold  one  of  the  most 
gorgeous  spectacles  the  eye  ever  rested  upon.  Sud- 
denly, as  if  by  magic,  the  green  woods  undergo  a  won- 
derful change.  The  different  trees,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  hardy  evergreens,  with  the  manifold 
varieties  of  the  same  species,  each  assume  a  distinct 
livery,  embracing  every  hue,  from  the  rich  scarlet  and 
crimson  of  the  oak  and  maple  to  the  pale  gold  of  the 
beech.  Words  are  inadequate  to  describe  the  pomp 
of  the  unrivalled  display,  nor  is  it  in  the  power  of  the 
pencil  to  portray  it.  No  palette  could  produce  such  a 
combination  of  colors,  such  delicate  blending  of  tints, 
such  brilliant  contrasts,  and  all  commingling  so  har- 
moniously and  producing  such  a  perfect  whole  that 
the  eye  is  never  wearied  with  gazing  upon  it. 

(258) 


THE  SETTLERS.  259 

We  know  of  but  one  other  scene  here  at  the  North 
that  can  approach  it  in  rivahy :  it  is  that  presented 
after  one  of  those  warm  rains  we  frequently  have  in 
the  depth  of  winter,  followed  by  a  clear,  cold  night. 
The  next  morning  you  look  out,  and  a  miracle  of 
beauty  meets  your  eye.  You  see  the  trees  everywhere 
bending  gracefully  to  the  earth  with  their  fruitage 
of  sparkling  gems,  like  a  bride  weighed  down  by  her 
burden  of  jewelry ;  flashing  with  dazzling  splendor  as 
the  sunbeams  fall  upon  them,  while  every  object,  from 
the  tall  spire  to  the  minutest  shrub  and  tiny  blade  of 
grass,  is  encased  in  crystal  armor.  In  a  night,  by  the 
touch  of  magic,  as  it  were,  the  bleak  and  barren  as- 
pect of  nature  has  been  metamorphosed,  and  a  scene 
of  inconceivable  splendor  is  unfolded  to  your  view. 

There  is  yet  one  more  spectacle,  not  so  gorgeous, 
perhaps, but  "beautiful  exceedingly,"  that  glorifies  our 
winters.  It  is  beheld  when  a  warm,  misty  day  is  suc- 
ceeded by  a  moderate  cold.  The  congealed  vapor 
settles  on  every  limb  and  twig,  so  that  every  object, 
aU  its  outlines  distinctly  marked,  seems  delicately  em- 
bossed with  silver,  rivalling  the  most  cunning  work- 
manship. The  woods  at  these  times  present  a  singu- 
larly attractive  appearance.  Veiled  in  their  snowy, 
gossamer-like  robes,  they  seem  like  huge  foam-drifts, 
or  clouds  of  feathery  spray,  thrown  up  and  transfixed 
in  the  air. 

A  short  time  since  we  witnessed  an  exhibition  of 
rare  splendor,  surpassing  anything  that  we  had  previ- 
ously beheld.  It  combined  both  of  the  features  just 
described.  A  rain  had  fallen,  and  all  the  trees  were 
cased  in  ice,  when  there  came  on  a  fine  snow,  which, 
lodging  on  the  glittering  and  still  dripping  trees,  soon 


260  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

became  amalgamated  with  the  icy  covering.  When 
the  weather  cleared  off,  and  the  rays  of  the  sun  fell 
upon  the  trees,  the  spectacle  presented  was  one  of 
which  words  utterly  fail  to  convey  an  idea.  Every 
limb,  to  the  minutest,  flashed  with  dazzling  brilliancy, 
while  each  was  surmounted  with  its  fringe  of  snow, 
clinging  there  like  swan's  down,  and  softening  the 
glare  of  the  scene.  A  more  splendid  sight  than  that 
presented  by  State  street,  with  its  double  row  of  elms, 
on  the  morning  in  question,  never  yet  was  witnessed 
on  earth. 

**  Infinite  splendor  !  wide  investing  all." 

But  to  our  story. 

We  would  invite  the  reader  to  step  back  with  us 
about  a  century,  say  to  the  year  1755,  and  permit  us 
to  introduce  him  into  the  wilds  of  the  then  province  of 
Maine.  It  is  in  this  same  beautiful  month  of  October, 
of  which  we  have  spoken.  The  delicious  "  Indian  sum- 
mer "  had  arrived,  and  the  woods  were  flushed  with  the 
hectic  of  the  dying  year.  Through  this  portion  of  the 
country  there  flowed  a  narrow,  placid -stream,  running 
in  a  very  serpentine  direction.  At  one  point  on  this 
stream,  called  Royal's  river,  a  clearing  had  been  made 
and  a  settlement  commenced.  This  primitive  village 
consisted  of  ten  or  a  dozen  log  huts,  scattered  here 
and  there,  from  an  eighth  to  a  quarter  of  a  mile  apart, 
and  a  small  meeting-house,  built  of  the  same  material. 
On  a  rising  ground,  some  distance  from  the  river, 
stood  a  block-house,  as  it  was  called.  This  house,  or 
fort,  was  built  of  heavy,  rough-hewn  timber,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  palisade.  These  houses,  our  read- 
ers are  already  aware,  were  used  as  places  of  refuge 


THE  SETTLERS.  261 

by  the  early  settlers,  when  fearing  an  attack  by  the 
savages,  in  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  threatened 
settlements  were  frequently  confined  for  years,  or 
only  ventured  out,  well  armed  and  in  squads,  to  attend 
to  their  husbandry,  or  to  bring  down  a  passing  deer 
or  some  other  wild  game. 

The  disadvantages  under  which  the  early  settlers 
labored  were  enough,  one  would  suppose,  to  have  dis- 
couraged the  hardiest  and  bravest  of  men.  They  had 
not  only  to  contend  against  the  stubbornness  of  a 
virgin  soil,  not  remarkable  for  its  richness,  but  they 
had  also  to  contend  against  merciless  foes,  ever  lurk- 
ing in  ambush  to  wreak  their  vengeance  on  the 
whites.  In  the  first  settlement  of  New  Gloucester, 
Me.,  prior  to  the  subjugation  of  Canada  by  the  English, 
the  inhabitants  of  this  then  isolated  spot  were  in 
continual  peril;  so  much  so,  that,  according  to  an 
ancient  chronicler,  ^Hhey  had  not  been  able  to  clear 
or  raise  anything,  only  as  the  men  went  altogether 
armed  to  their  work,  within  reach  of  the  shot  of  the 
large  swivel  guns  of  the  fort,  keeping  good  sentinels 
of  men  and  large  dogs,  and  leaving  the  women  to 
keep  the  fort."  "^ 

It  was  previous  to  their  being  in  the  block-house, 
however,  that  our  story  commences.  Although  there 
came  evil  tidings,  from  time  to  time,  from  the  neigh- 
boring settlements,  of  the  incursions  of  the'  savages, 
the  settlers  of  New  Gloucester  still  remained  in  their 
habitations,  busily  engaged  in  securing  their  crops, 
and  making  preparations  for  the  approaching  cold 
season.     But  as,  day  after  day,  fresh  accounts  were 

♦  **  An  Account  of  New  Gloucester,"  by  Isaac  Parsons. 


262  FOIiEST  AND   SHORE, 

received  of  the  depredations  committed  by  the  In- 
dians, many  an  anxious  thought  was  directed  to  the 
fort,  and  eager  consultations  held  about  resorting  to 
it.  Already  large  quantities  of  provisions  had  been 
transported  thither,  and  most  of  the  families  had  made 
arrangements  to  take  up  their  abode  there  at  a  mo- 
ment's warning. 

Some  two  miles  from  the  settlement,  but  as  the 
bee  flies  a  somewhat  shorter  distance,  —  situated 
about  midway  between  Royal's  river  and  the  Little 
Androscoggin,  —  stood  the  solitary  dwelling  of  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Millet.  His  family  consisted  of  a 
wife,  a  son,  some  twenty-two  years  of  age,  a  daughter 
about  three  years  younger,  and  a  niece,  an  orphan, 
the  child  of  a  deceased  sister,  of  about  the  same  age. 
At  times,  and  at  this  particular  time,  he  had  a  "  hired 
man  "  to  assist  him  in  harvesting. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that,  although 
receiving  the  wages  of  a  laborer,  the  servitude  of 
Henry  Worthly  was  no  detraction  to  him.  It  was 
common  in  those  days  for  the  young  men  to  let  them- 
selves out  during  harvest-time,  when  their  services 
were  not  required  at  home.  Worthly  was  of  nearly 
the  same  age  of  George  Millet,  between  whom  a 
strong  friendship  existed.  They  were  co-laborers  in 
the  field,  and  sharers  of  each  other's  bed.  Worthly 
was  also  a  general  favorite  in  the  family,  and  a  par- 
ticular one,  if  certain  signs  were  to  be  relied  on,  with 
Ellen  Millet.  Not  that  she  too  openly  displayed  her 
partiality,  —  she  had  too  much  true  womanly  delicacy 
to  do  that,  —  but,  as  the  poet  says, 

'*  There  is  a  language  by  the  virgin  made, 
Not  read  but  felt,  not  uttered  but  betrayed  ; 


THE  SETTLER.  .263 

A  mute  communion,  yet  so  wondrous  sweet, 
Eyes  but  impart  what  tongue  can  ne'er  repeat.** 

Although  reared  in  the  wilderness,  there  was  noth- 
ing coarse  or  hoydenish  about  Ellen  Millet.  She  was 
a  fine  specimen  of  a  country  lass,  full  of  life  and 
spirit,  ready  to  assist  in  all  household  duties,  and  in 
the  haying  season  more  dexterous  with  the  rake  than 
most  youngsters.  She  was  of  a  medium  stature,  with 
a  finely  moulded  person,  and  a  countenance  blooming 
with  health  and  vivacity.  As  the  expression  of  her 
face  betokened,  she  possessed  a  quick,  active  mind, 
excitable,  but  not  frivolous.  Her  temperament  was 
lively  and  hopeful,  but  her  judgment  was  firm  and  dis- 
criminating. Her  education  was  limited,  but  not  neg- 
lected. She  was  one  of  those  characters  who  grasp 
knowledge  intuitively,  as  it  were.  A  select  collection 
of  books,  though  small,  possessed  by  her  father,  aided 
materially  in  the  development  of  her  intellectual 
powers. 

Young  Worthly's  character  was  somewhat  akin  to 
Ellen's,  and  perhaps  it  was  their  mutual  thirst  for 
knowledge,  and  their  mutual  studies  to  obtain  it,  that 
biassed  their  hearts  towards  each  other.  He  was  a 
well-knit,  manly-looking  fellow,  possessed  of  that  nat- 
ural grace  which  lends  ease  to  every  motion,  whether 
in  swinging  an  axe  or  a  scythe,  or  in  passing  a  cup 
of  tea.  It  did  not  require  a  very  close  observation 
to  detect  a  strong  growing  attachment  between  this 
couple,  so  eminently  fitted  by  character  and  position 
for  each  other. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  a  circumstance 
transpired  which  revealed  to  the  full  the  deep  interest 
which  Worthly  felt  for  his  fair  companion.     And  that 


2G4  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

same  thrilling  incident,  which  we  shall  presently  re- 
late, threw  a  light  on  the  secret  workings  of  other 
hearts. 

Being  cousins,  there  had  alwa3^s  been,  of  course,  an 
open  show  of  affection  between  George  Mihet  and 
Annie  Wilson,  but  no  one  dreamed  at  the  time  that 
any  stronger  than  a  cousinly  regard  existed. 

Annie  Wilson  was  like  and  yet  unlike  Ellen.  In 
many  characteristics  there  was  a  marked  resemblance. 
She  evinced  the  same  aptness  for  study,  and  exhib- 
ited the  same  household  virtues ;  but  her  spirits  were 
not  so  exuberant  as  Ellen's.  At  times  a  shade  of 
melancholy  would  veil  her  usually  lively  features. 
The  loss  of  her  parents  had  thrown  a  shadow  over 
her  early  life,  and  although  she  had  found  an  affec- 
tionate father  and  mother  in  her  uncle  and  aunt,  a 
warm-hearted  sister  in  Ellen,  and  something  more 
than  a  devoted  brother  in  George,  a  feeling  of  lone- 
liness would  at  times  steal  over  her,  not  amounting  to 
unhappiness,  but  sufficient  to  slightly  check  a  flow 
of  spirits  naturally  lively  and  excitable.  In  person 
she  was  more  delicately  moulded  than  Ellen.  Al- 
though enjoying  excellent  health,  it  was  not  so  robust 
as  her  cousin's.  She  possessed  no  common  share  of 
beauty,  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine  which 
bore  the  palm,  she  or  Ellen.  There  was  a  witchery 
in  the  laughing  eyes  and  playful  expression  of  Ellen's 
features,  which  fully  balanced  the  more  quiet  charms 
of  Annie.  They  were  both  lovely  girls,  and  lovable 
as  lovely. 

As  for  George,  he  was  a  happy-hearted  fellow,  with 
a  full  share  of  his  sister's  lively  disposition.  He 
was  more  impulsive  than  Worthly,  and  lacked,  per- 


THE    SETTLERS.  265 

haps,  a  little  of  his  firmness  and  decision  of  character, 
lie  loved  a  merry  joke,  and  it  would  have  done  one 
good  to  hear  his  hearty,  jovial  laugh.  The  staidness 
of  his  father,  who  was  a  deacon  in  the  church  (and  a 
deacon  in  those  days  was  a  very  dignified  body,  to  be 
sure !)  was  frequently  severely  tested  by  the  good- 
natured  pranks  he  was  fond  of  playing.  His  fond 
mother  doted  on  him  as  the  apple  of  her  eye,  and 
was  always  ready  with  an  excuse  for  him  when  his 
frolicsome  propensities  carried  him  beyond  the  bounds 
of  propriety,  and  rendered  him  amenable  to  the  good 
deacon's  rebukes. 

Such  were  the  characters,  hastily  portrayed,  and 
such  the  relation  iij  which  they  stood  to  each  other, 
of  the  inmates  of  the  small  log  hut  we  have  men- 
tioned. 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  ;  the  horn  had 
been  sounded,  with  a  lively  tra-la-la,  by  the  rosy  lips 
of  Ellen,  calling  the  laborers  from  the  distant  field  to 
the  evening  meal.  Right  readily  had  the  summons 
been  obeyed ;  the  cattle  had  been  put  up ;  and  now 
around  the  table  the  family  had  gathered,  and  the 
good  deacon  was  about  to  ask  a  blessing  on  the  plain 
but  substantial  fare  before  him,  when  footsteps  were 
heard  approaching  the  house. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  eyes  of  all  were  turned 

curiously  towards  the  door.      It  opened,  and  a  tali 

figure  dressed  in  hunting  gear,  with  a  formidable  rifle 

in  bis  hands,  entered  the  room,  followed  by  a  powerful 

28 


266  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

dog.  A  smile  of  recognition  and  silent  welcome 
greeted  the  new-comer,  who  paused  as  he  noticed  the 
prayerful  attitude  of  the  family,  and,  raising  his  cap, 
he  bowed  his  head  reverently  as  a  signal  for  the  dea- 
con to  proceed. 

As  he  will  perform  an  important  part  in  the  following 
f^ketch,  it  may  be  well  to  describe  him  as  he  stood 
there  leaning  on  his  long  rifle.  He  was  above  the 
middling  height,  with  broad  chest  and  shoulders,  and 
though  spare  in  flesh,  his  well-developed  muscles 
denoted  great  strength  and  powers  of  endurance. 
He  was  apparently  about  sixty  years  of  age.  His  face 
was  bronzed  by  the  sun  and  the  weather,  and  some- 
what scarred  with  age,  but  his  eye  had  lost  none  of 
the  fire  of  youth.  His  features  betrayed  a  remark- 
able vivacity  when  he  entered  the  room  and  returned 
the  mute  salutation  of  the  family.  But,  composed  as 
they  were  now,  in  every  lineament  could  be  read  a 
firm,  unwavering  resoluteness.  Though  there  was 
sternness,  there  was  nothing  like  harshness  or  cold- 
ness in  his  countenance.  It  was  one  of  those  faces 
that  indicate  a  bold,  self  reliant  man,  full  of  shrewd- 
ness, and  accustomed  to  depend  on  his  own  resources 
in  whatever  circumstances  he  might  be  placed. 

His  dress  was  of  a  half-savage,  half-civilized  fashion. 
His  cap  was  made  of  the  skin  of  some  wild  animal, 
and  was  evidently  the  work  of  his  own  hands.  He 
wore  a  short  hunting-frock,  girt  around  the  waist  by  a 
broad  belt  of  undressed  hide,  suspended  from  which 
was  a  sheath  of  the  same  material,  containing  a  for- 
midable hunting-knife,  and  a  capacious  pouch.  His 
lower  limbs  were  cased  in  leggins  of  deer-skin,  and 


THE   SETTLERS.  267 

his  feet  in  moccasins,  like  those  usually  worn  by  the 
Indians. 

His  appearance,  as  he  stood  there,  his  dog  crouched 
at  the  butt  of  his  rifle,  was  singular  in  the  extreme. 
There  was  not  the  movement  of  a  limb  or  a  muscle 
until  the  deacon  had  finished  his  somewhat  prolix 
blessing.  That  over,  with  a  quick,  active  motion  he 
deposited  his  weapon  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  his 
face  lighted  up  as  if  by  magic,  and  in  a  moment  he 
was  shaking  hands  at  one  and  the  same  moment  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Millet,  while  exclamations  of  "  Welcome, 
Scout!"  "Glad  to  see  you,  Scout!''  "Take  a  seat 
at  the  table,  Joe  !  "  burst  from  the  different  members 
of  the  family. 

The  personage  thus  introduced  to  the  reader  was 
celebrated  far  and  near,  not  only  as  a  huntsman,  but  as 
a  leader  of  excursions  sent  out  to  punish  the  oft-re- 
peated depredations  of  the  savages.  The  greater 
part  of  his  life  had  been  spent  in  the  woods,  and  he 
had  acquired  all  the  cunning  and  subtlety  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  aborigines.  His  eye  was  as  quick  to 
detect  and  to  follow  a  trail  as  the  sharpest  among  the 
red  men.  His  services  were  always  ready  wben  re- 
quired to  head  a  war  party,  to  warn  distant  settle- 
ments, or  to  watch  the  enemy,  and  a  great  portion  of 
his  time  was  employed  in  following  them  up  single- 
handed.  He  evidently  harbored  a  strong  animosity 
against  the  whole  race,  and  a  ferocious  fire  would 
burn  in  his  eye  when  speaking  of  them.  He  was  not 
naturally  cruel  in  his  disposition,  although  he  has  been 
portrayed  as  such;  but  some  early  wrong  he  had 
received  from  the  hands  of  the  Indians  had  implanted 


268  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

in  his  heart  an  implacable  enmity  toward  the  whole 
race. 

"Well,  Scout,  what  news  is  there  stirring?"  asked 
the  deacon,  after  having  bountifully  helped  his  unex- 
pected guest;  "are  the  settlements  all  quiet?" 

"  Just  now,  round  here,  deacon,"  replied  the  Scout. 
"  But  the  varmints  have  been  at  their  bloody  work 
down  to  Falmouth.  One  Sweat  was  shot  there  while 
riding  on  horseback,  the  other  day,  and  I  I'arn  that 
Greeley,  of  Yarmouth,  has  been  murdered  by  the 
reptyles." 

"Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  tribe  that  commit- 
ted the  deed?"  asked  young  Worthly. 

"  The  Androscoggin,  youngster,  the  most  treach- 
erous and  blood-thirsty  of  them  all.  The  out-lying 
sarpents  are  spread  all  over  the  eastern  sections. 
They  carried  off  a  young  gal  down  to  Freeport  not 
long  since,  besides  killing  one  Means,  and  his  babe  at 
its  mother's  breast,  wounding  the  woman  with  the 
same  ball  that  killed  her  child." 

"  Are  there  any  signs  of  them  at  the  west  of  us  ?  " 
asked  the  deacon,  without  inquiring  farther  into  the 
particulars  of  the^  murders,  for  they  were  too  com- 
mon in  those  days  to  excite  more  than  a  passing 
remark. 

"  Wal,  now,  that 's  part  of  my  business  here. 
There's  a  stir  among  the  Ossipees,  and  I  consate  they 
are  bent  on  some  mischief.  I've  been  in  their  region, 
and  things  don't  look  right,  any  how.  There  was  a 
mustering  of  the  critturs  on  the  Saco,  and  they  were 
all  daubed  up  with  their  infernal  war-paint." 

"  Did  you  dare  to  v^enture  among  them?"  inquired 
Annie. 


1 


THE   SETTLERS.  269 

""Wal,  Pve  been  out  hunting  tbereaways,  and  I 
reckoned  't  would  be  as  well  to  keep  my  eyes  open, 
and  look  round  to  see  what  the  varmints  were  about." 

"  Were  you  not  afraid  of  being  caught  ?  "  asked 
Ellen. 

^'  Ha,  ha  !  when  you  catch  a  weasel  asleep,  gal,  you 
may  trap  old  Joe  when  he  is  on  the  trail !  I  Ve  not 
lived  in  the  woods  so  long  to  be  sarcumvented  by  a 
pesky  copper-skin,  —  hey,  Brave?"  and  he  patted  the 
head  of  the  dog,  which  stood  by  his  chair  receiving 
a  share  of  his  supper,  giving  utterance  to  a  low 
chuckle  at  the  same  time. 

"  But,  see  here,  deacon,"  he  added,  rising  from  the 
table,  "  1  Ve  a  word  to  say  to  you  outside.  Stay 
where  you  are.  Brave,  and  finish  your  supper."  So 
saying,  he  unceremoniously  placed  his  plate  on  the 
floor  before  the  dog,  then  turned  and  left  the  room 
with  Mr.  Millet. 

After  they  had  got  outside,  and  a  short  distance 
from  the  house,  the  Scout  commenced,  in  a  low  tone: 
'^  'T  was  no  use  in  skeering  the  women  folks  in  there, 
so  I  thought  it  best  to  call  you  out." 

"How  does  any  danger  threaten. us,  Scout?"  asked 
Mr.  Millet,  with  no  small  degree  of  anxiety. 

""Wal,  deacon,  't  ain't  no  use  in  covering  on  it  up, 
but,  the  fact  is,  the  Ossipees  are  on  the  path,  and 
likely 's  not  the  skulking  rascals  will  be  along  this  way. 
Nay,  I  'm  sure  of  it.  I  saw  enough  to  convince  me 
that  it  was  their  intention  to  send  war  parties  off  in 
different  directions,  and  in  course  some  will  come  this 
way.  1  Tarnt  as  much  as  this,  aud  then  started  off  to 
put  the  settlements  on  their  guard.  1  warned  them  at 
Hollis  and  Buxton  and  Gorbam,  as  I  came  along;  and 
23* 


270  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

the  sooner  yoii  get  into  the  block-house  the  better,  I 
consate." 

"  We  will  do  it  this  very  night.  I  will  go  and  make 
preparations  to  leave  immediately,  while  you,  Scout, 
can  go  forward  and  notify  the  neighbors  of  their 
danger ;  '^  and  with  evident  alarm  Mr.  Millet  was  turn- 
ing to  go  back  to  the  house,  when  the  hunter  took 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  T  ain't  at  all  necessary,  deacon,  to  be  in  a  hurry. 
Any  time  to-morrow  will  do.  You  are  not  in  the 
slightest  danger  to-night.  I  had  a  good  day's  start  of 
them,  and  I  can  out-travel  ary  red-skin  in  these  parts, 
I  reckon.  I  will  go  and  notify  the  other  settlers,  and 
you  go  home  and  sleep  to-night,  and  move  in  the 
course  of  the  day  to-morrow."  With  this  injunction, 
the  Scout  turned  and  accompanied  the  deacon  to  the 
house. 

He  was  pressed  hard  by  the  inmates  to  remain  for 
the  night,  as  the  evening  by  this  time  had  quite  shut 
in;  but,  taking  his  rifle  from  the  corner  and  calling  to 
his  dog,  he  declined,  saying  that  he  had  some  business 
down  the  road,  which  it  would  not  do  to  leave  until 
morning.  Bidding, the  family  good-night,  with  long, 
swinging  strides  he  left  the  house,  and  was  soon 
buried  in  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  on  his  way  to  the 
settlement  at  New  Gloucester,  to  which  a  rough  road 
led  him. 

After  his  departure,  Mr.  Millet  revolved  the  matter 
in  his  mind,  whether  he  should  reveal  to  his  family 
the  unwelcome  tidings  he  had  received,  that  night,  or 
wait  until  the  morning.  And  yet  he  wished  to  con- 
sult with  them,  for  he  was  strongly  inclined  to  remove 
to  the  block-house  that  night. 


THE   SETTLERS.  271 

The  family  noticed  liis  unusual  gravity  and  abstrac- 
tion of  manner  as  he  slowly  paced  the  room ;  and, 
after  a  while^  his  wife  addressed  him  in  a  tone  of  some 
apprehension. 

"  Husband,  what  is  the  matter  ?  There  is  something 
preying  on  your  mind.  I  am  fearful  the  Scout  was 
the  bearer  of  bad  news.'' 

"  It  is  too  true,  Abby,"  said  Mr.  Millet,  taking  his 
wife's  hand  ;  "  I  have  received  unwelcome  tidings  by 
him."  And  he  related  to  the  eager  listeners  the  infor- 
mation given  him  by  the  Scout.  "  And  now  what  had 
we  better  do  ? "  he  added.  "  Shall  we  remain  here 
to-night,  or " 

'^To  the  block-house,  by  all  means  to  the  block- 
house, my  dear  husband,"  broke  in  the  wife,  who  was 
constitutionally  timid. 

"  Yes,  dear  uncle,"  added  Annie,  with  lips  a  little 
pale,  "  let  us  go.  Remember  the  poor  family  at  Gor- 
ham,  whose  delay  of  one  night  proved  their  destruc- 
tion." 

"What  say  you,  George  and  Ellen?"  asked  the 
deacon,  wishing  to  hear  each  one's  opinion. 

"  I  hardly  know  which  is  most  advisable,"  replied 
the  son.     "  Perhaps " 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Henry  ? "  asked  Ellen, 
turning  to  Worthly  as  George  hesitated,  evincing  by 
her  tone  and  manner  that  she  should  be  governed  by 
his  decision. 

"As  for  myself,"  replied  Worthly,  "I  have  such  full 
confidence  in  the  Scout  that  I  should  follow  his  advice 
and  remain.  If  the  danger  were  imminent,  he  is  not 
the  man  to  lull  us  into  false  security.  Besides,  it  is 
now  quite  dark,  and  it  would  take  us  some  time  to  get 


272  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

onrseh^es  ready  for  a  start.  Tlio  road,  too,  is  very 
bad;  and,  if  there  is  danger" abroad,  we  should  be 
more  exposed  to  it  on  the  way  than  here.  My  opinion 
is  that  we  had  better  remain.  George  and  I  will  keep 
watch  through  the  night,  and  I  will  answer  for  it  that 
no  harm  shall  befall  us." 

After  some  little  discussion,  it  was  finally  decided 
not  to  leave  the  house.  The  doors  were  strongly  bar- 
ricaded, fire-arms  were  plac(M]  ready  for  instant  use, 
and,  after  a  fervent  prayer  from  the  deacon,  all  retired 
save  the  two  watchers.  The  night  passed  without 
disturbance ;  but  the  sleep  of  the  inmates  was  broken 
and  restless. 


CHAPTER    III.      , 

With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  the  household  were 
astir  and  in  active  preparation  for  removal ;  and,  soon 
after  the  sun  was  up,  the  little  party  were  crossing  the 
rude,  rustic  bridge  over  Royal's  river,  bearing  with 
them  their  household  treasures.  The  inhabitants  of 
the  settlement  were  actively  engaged  in  transporting 
their  goods  and  furniture  to  the  block-house.  Al- 
though the  fort  was  of  a  sufficient  size  to  admit  them 
all,  it  must  be  confessed  the  accommodations  were 
rather  close. 

Throughout  the  day  there  was  a  passing  to  and  fro 
of  teams  and  persons  conveying  provisions,  and  all 
were  busily  employed  in  this  work  and  in  disposing 
of  the  articles  they  were  obliged  to  leave  behind 
for  want  of   room.      Notwithstanding  the  apprehen- 


THE  SETTLERS.  273 

sions  felt  by  all,  the  excitement  of  removing  and  ad- 
justing the  household  utensils  created  not  a  little 
animation,  amidst  which  the  light,  merry  laugh  of  Ellen, 
and  the  jovial  humor  of  George,  tended  not  a  little 
to  enliven  the  spirits  of  those  who  might  otherwise 
have  given  way  to  despondency. 

"  By  jabers  !  "  said  a  son  of  the  Green  Isle,  who  was 
employed  by  one  of  the  settlers,  after  one  of  Ellen's 
lively  sallies,  '*  she  's  a  broth  of  a  girl,  and  thinks  no 
more  of  the  bloody  h'athens'  tomahawks  than  I  do  of 
facing  a  Connaught  boy  with  his  shillalah.  She  's  true 
grit,  anyhow."  Pat  was  right.  Ellen  was  not  one 
to  borrow  trouble  or  to  give  "way  to  unnecessary 
fears. 

"  It  is  time  enough  to  turn  pale  and  have  your  teetn 
chatter,  you  silly  puss,  when  the  war-whoop  is  ringing 
in  your  ears,  and  the  scalping-knife  is  flashing  before 
your  eyes,"  she  said,  laughingly,  to  her  cousin,  whose 
nervous  agitation  was  too  apparent  to  be  disguised. 
It  was  not  out  of  bravado  that  Ellen  made  light  of 
the  matter.  She  did  it  for  the  purpose  of  cheering 
her  mother  and  Annie,  both  of  whom  needed  something 
to  enliven  their  spirits. 

By  noon  the  work  of  removal  was  completed.  The 
cattle  were  driven  inside  the  palisade,  and  a  watch 
detailed. 

The  block-house  was  some  fifty  feet  square,  consist- 
ing of  two  stories,  the  second  of  which  jutted  a  short 
distance  over  the  lower,  and  was  pierced  wuth  a  number 
of  narrow  windows.  A  tower  rose  from  the  centre, 
in  which  was  a  mounted  swivel  on  a  pivot.  The  stock- 
ade that  surrounded  the  house  was  so  high  that  the 
Indians  could  not  climb  over  it,  and  the  timber  of 


274  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

wliicli  it  was  composed  placed  so  close  together  that 
they  could  not  get  through  it.  Care  was  taken  that  it 
should  not  be  of  a  size  sufficient  to  afford  a  shelter  to 
the  foe.  It  was  impossible  for  a  man  to  place  himself 
in  any  position  without  exposing  some  part  of  his 
body.  The  cattle  were  protected  by  a  pen  of  logs 
well  fitted  together. 

After  the  bustle  consequent  upon  the  change  of 
quarters  had  subsided,  and  the  inmates  found  time  to 
reflect  upon  their  situation,  a  spirit  of  gloom  settled 
upon  the  company.  The  uncertainty  as  to  the  dura- 
tion of  their  imprisonment  was  the  principal  cause  of 
their  depression.  It  might  be  months,  nay,  years,  be- 
fore it  would  be  safe  for  them  to  leave  the  garrison. 
In  repeated  instances,  they  well  knew,  the  inhabitants 
of  other  settlements  had  been  kept  close  captives  for 
two  and  three  years,  not  daring  to  venture  out  to  till 
the  ground,  and  suffering  the  most  pinching  wants,  to 
such  a  degree,  as  the  old  chronicles  'inform  us,  that  for 
months  they  did  not  taste  bread  or  meat.  Such,  in  all 
probability,  would  be  their  fate ;  and  they  brooded 
despondingly  on  sufferings  to  be  endured,  on  fields 
running  to  waste,  on  habitations  destroyed,  and  on 
cattle  shot  down  or  driven  off.  The  latter  was  of  fre- 
quent occurrence,  as  it  was  impossible  to  lay  in  prov- 
ender sufficient  to  keep  them  any  great  length  of  time 
inside  the  stockade.  When,  therefore,  the  fodder 
failed,  there  was  no  other  resource  left  but  to  drive 
them  out  to  seek  their  own  food. 

The  result  of  an  attack  on  the  block-house  they  did 
not  much  fear.  It  was  so  strongly  fortified,  that,  with 
due  watchfulness,  they  felt  it  to  be  impregnable. 
Sometimes   those    fortresses  had  been  carried,  when 


THE  SETTLERS.  275 

fire  was  resorted  to  as  one  of  the  dreadful  agents  of 
destruction ;  but  they  apprehended  no  danger  from 
that  source.  As  a  general  thing,  the  Indians  would 
lurk  in  ambush  about  a  garrison,  with  a  dogged  per- 
severance, for  the  purpose  of  starving  out  the  inmates, 
or  of  shooting  or  making  prisoners  of  those  who 
should  rashly  venture  out.  It  was  impossible  to  des- 
ignate whence  the  attack  would  be  made.  Every 
clump  of  bushes  might  conceal  a  foe,  every  tree  prove 
a  covert.  In  the  very  grass  at  your  feet,  snake-like 
they  might  hide,  springing  up  and  attacking  you  una- 
wai  ds.  You  only  knew  that  you  were  surrounded  by 
a  merciless,  unseen  foe,  —  and  how  much  more  terri- 
ble from  being  invisible!  —  and  that  you  were  liable 
at  any  moment  to  be  attacked,  not  in  open,  honorable 
warfare,  but  secretly,  treacherously,  as  the  midnight 
assassin  strikes  down  his  victim. 

The  afternoon  wore  away  without  any  signs  of  the 
enemy.  Indeed,  they  had  no  fears  of  their  appearance 
during  daylight,  although  it  was  not  uncommon  for  a 
man  or  woman  to  be  shot  down  at  the  very  threshold, 
or  a  child  to  be  snatched  away  from  the  door-steps. 
Generally,  however,  the  savages  selected  an  hour  or 
two  before  daybreak  for  the  time  of  attack,  as  they 
deemed  that  then  the  slumber  of  their  intended  victims 
would  be  the  soundest. 

Young  Worthly  and  Millet  assumed  the  duty  of 
watchmen  the  first  night.  Their  station  was  in  the 
tower,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  whole  settle- 
ment, as  well  as  a  long  reach  of  the  river,  which  at 
this  point  of  view  assumed  the  width  and  character 
of  a  much  more  important  stream  than  its  general 
features  proved  it  to  be.     Before  ascending  to  the 


276  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

lookout,  all  the  inmates  were  assembled  in  the  largest 
room,  where  the  evening  devotions  were  performed, 
conducted,  in  the  absence  of  the  minister,  by  Deacon 
Millet.  The  services  were  closed  by  all  uniting  in  a 
hymn  of  praise,  after  wliich,  at  an  early  hour,  they  all 
sought  repose,  and  silence  reigned  throughout  the 
fort. 

It  was  a  lovely  night.  The  moon  was  quite  at  her 
full,  and  field  and  forest  and  river  were  bathed  in  a 
flood  of  light.  Every  object  was  distinctly  visible  in 
the  clearing,  and  the  distant  river  spread  out  like  a 
vein  of  burnished  silver,  save  near  its  banks,  where 
the  shrubbery  obscured  the  rays  of  the  moon,  pro- 
ducing an  inky  blackness.  Every  tree  and  busli  threw 
a  deep  shadow  on  the  ground,  and  often  would  the 
young  men  imagine  that  they  could  detect  in  those 
black  patches  a  crouching  foe.  A  deep  calm  pre- 
vailed, but  occasionally  a  slight  breath  of  air  would 
float  by,  just  stirring  the  tree-tops.  A  profound 
silence  reigned,  which  was  almost  oppressive,  save 
once  in  a  while  there  was  borne  to  the  ear  that  mys- 
terious flutter  or  shiver  which  is  often  heard  in  the 
woods  in  a  still  night,  like  the  passing  of  a  spirit, 
and,  at  distant  intervals,  the  melancholy  hooting  of 
the  night-owl  coming  faintly  from  the  depths  of  the 
forest. 

It  was  getting  near  midnight,  when  the  attention 
of  the  watchers  was  aroused  by  what  sounded  like 
the  baying  of  a  dog  afar  off. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Worthly?"  asked  George,  in  a 
whisper,  holding  his  breath,  and  listening  for  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  sound. 


THE  SETTLERS.  277 

"  Yes/^  replied  Henry,  after  a  pause ;  "  it  sounded 
like  the  baying  of  a  dog.     But  it  cannot  be  that." 

"Why  not?" 

*' Because  the  Indians  wculd  not  bring  their  dogs 
with  them  on  a  night  attack^  or,  if  they  did,  they  have 
trained  the  animals  so  well  they  would  never  betray 
their  presence  in  such  a  noj?y  manner." 

"  What  could  it  be,  then  ?  " 

"  Probably  the  cry  of  a  wolf,  or  some  other  night 
animal.  But,  by  Heavens !  there  is  something  moving 
under  the  bushes  yonder ! "  and  Henry  pointed  to  a 
small  clump  that  stood  in  an  open  space,  a  few  yards 
distant  from  the  skirts  of  the  forest. 

"  The  wind  stirs  the  foHage,"  whispered  George, 
''  causing  the  shadow  ta  move.  I  have  been  deceived 
a  number  of  times  by  the  same  cause." 

"  No,  I  '11  stake  my  life  that  was  not  it.  Look, 
look,  —  there  it  is  again  1  See  to  the  priming  of  your 
gun." 

The  eyes  of  the  young  men  were  now  fixed  in- 
tently on  the  clump  of  bushes,  but  for  a  while  noth- 
ing could  be  detected  to  confirm  their  suspicion.  In 
a  short  time,  however,  a  figure  was  seen  creeping 
slowly  across  the  patch  of  moonlight  towards  the 
forest,  and  ere  long  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  deep 
shadows. 

"  They  have  come  !  they  are  prowling  around  us ! " 
said  George,  in  an  excited  voice.  "  Had  I  not  better 
k  arouse  the  garrison?  " 

"  Not  yet ;  let  us  wait  a  while,"  rejoined  Henry, 
calmly.  "  The  fellow  is  evidently  reconnoitering ;  he 
was  edging  this  way.  Step  back  in  the  corner  there, 
24 


278  F0RE3T   AND   SHOliE. 

out  01  the  moonliglit,  or  you  may  get  a  touch  of  the 
rascal's  cold  lead/^ 

A  half  hour  or  more  passed  by  and  nothing  waF 
seen  of  the  skulker.  The  most  searching  glance? 
were  sent  in  every  direction,  while  the  young  men 
bent  their  ears  to  catch  the  slightest  sound,  but  aD 
in  vain.  They  scarcely  drew  a  long  breath,  so  com- 
pletely was  their  attention  absorbed. 

"  He  must  have  gone  in  another  direction,"  said 
George,  in  a  scarcely  audible  tone. 

The  words  had  barely  left  his  lips,  when  a  slight 
noise  was  heard  outside  the  palisade,  in  the  rear  of 
the  block-house,  where  the  shadows  rested,  and  pres- 
ently a  low  hail  was  heard :  "  Holloa,  there  I  " 

No  reply  was  made,  and  again  the  voice  was  heard: 
"  In  the  tower,  there  1  are  you  asleep  ?  " 

The  voice  was  immediately  recognized,  and  a  joy- 
ful exclamation  burst  simultaneously  from  the  young 
men  :  "  The  Scout  I  the  Scout  I  " 

"Whist I'  whist!  youngsters;  there  may  be  more 
ears  in  the  neighborhood  than  mine.  It's  terrible 
risky  to  move  the  tongue  in  the  night,  'specially  when 
near  the  water.  But  one  of  you  come  down  to  the 
palisade  a  moment.  Don't  disturb  the  elders,  for  my 
errand  does  not  consarn  them  at  present." 

Henry  immediately  descended  to  the  enclosure  and 
joined  the  Scout. 

"  You  need  n't  unfasten  the  gate  ;  I  can  say  what  I 
have  got  to  say  just  as  well  here." 

"  But  you  will  come  in  and  spend  the  night  here. 
Scout?" 

"  No,  youngster,"  said  the  hunter,  ''  I  must  go 
along  a  piec©  further,  where  I  shall  camp  out.     My 


THE    SETTLKR^.  279 

old  bones  could  not  rest  well  on  a  softer  couch  than 
pine  boughs." 

"  How  did  you  approach  the  block-house  ?  "  asked 
Henry,  with  some  interest.  "  We  kept  vigilant  watch 
in  all  quarters,  but  did  not  see  you/' 

"  Wal,  my  lad,  that  is  one  of  the  tricks  I  have  Tarnt 
of  the  cunning  sarpents.  They  are  snaky  critturs, 
them  red-skins.  They  're  a  pesky  sight  worse  than 
rattlesnakes,  for  they  do  give  warning  before  they 
strike,  but  an  Injun  never  does." 

"  All  seems  quiet  to-night,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  What  brought  you  here  ?  is  there  anything  astir?  " 

"  There  's  no  telling,  the  varmints  are  so  desateful. 
But  I  reckon  they  will  not  disturb  you  to-night.  I  've 
been  scrummaging  round  here  these  two  hours  or 
more,  and  have  seen  no  signs  of  them.  I  was  glad  to 
find  the  houses  empty,  and  that  you  were  all  safe  in 
here.  My  object  in  caUing  was  to  caution  you  to  be 
on  your  guard." 

^'  We  shall  endeavor  to  be  so,"  said  Worthly. 

"  Yes,  youngster,  you  may  be  for  a  while,  but  peo- 
ple grow  venturesome  after  a  time.  Finding  that 
you  have  taken  the  alarm,  the  savages  may  hang 
round  here  for  weeks,  watching  an  opportunity  to 
pounce  upon  you.  I  know  the  reptyles  well,  —  I 
know  all  their  diviltries, — and  I  charge  you,  and  mind 
tell  all  the  people,  to  be  watchful,  always  watchful, 
by  day  and  by  night.  When  you  think  yourself  most 
secure,  destruction  may  be  staring  you  right  in  the 
face.  Don't  venture  outside  on  any  account.  I  shall 
be  along  this  way  one  of  these  days,  and  will  tell  you 
bow  matters  stand.  Good-night,  youngster,  and  keep 
in  mind  what  I  have  said." 


280  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

Thus  saying,  the  old  man  dropped  slowly  to  the 
ground,  and  for  a  little  while  was  seen  worming  him- 
self along  in  the  direction  of  the  forest.  In  a  few 
minutes,  however,  not  a  sign  could  be  discovered  to 
indicate  a  living  thing  in  the  neighborhood.  Young 
Worthly  again  ascended  to  his  post,  not  a  little  re- 
lieved from  the  anxiety  that  so  lately  disturbed  him. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Would  the  reader  like  to  take  a  midnight  flitting 
through  the  forest  ?  We  feel  greatly  inclined  to  fol- 
low in  the  footsteps  of  the  Scout,  it  is  such  a  glorious 
night,  and  the  moonbeams,  falling  on  and  through  the 
parti-colored  leaves,  present  such  fine  effects.  The 
foliage  is  somewhat  thinned  out,  so  that  the  forest 
paths  are  illuminated  with  that  "  dim  religious  light " 
which  so  tends  to  impress  the  heart  with  chaste  and 
hallowed  feelings. 

Nowhere  is  the  mind  more  affected  with  a  so- 
lemnity almost  amounting  to  awe  than  in  the  depth  of 
a  forest,  particularly  in  that  season  when  the  leaves 
begin  to  fall.  At  each  step  you  take  there  rises  a 
muffled  sound  from  the  dry  foliage  displaced  by  your 
feet,  and  all  around  you,  as  the  light  breeze  soughs 
through  the  tree-tops,  withered  leaves  come  flitting 
through  the  air, — gentle  monitors,  reminding  you  of 
decay,  and  whispering  in  your  ear  with  startling  em- 
phasis the  prophetic  declaration,  "  We  all  do  fade  as 
the  leaf"  Men  talk  of  being  subdued  and  awed  when 
treading  the  aisles  of  lofty  cathedrals ;  but  what  are 


THE   SETTLERS.  281 

these  puny  works  of  man  in  comparison  with  the  vapt 
forest  sanctuaries,  "  God's  first  temples  ? "  Beauti- 
fully has  our  own  Bryant  said : 

**  The  groves  were  God's  first  temples.    Ere  man  learned 
To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave, 
And  spread  the  roof  above  them  ;  ere  he  framed 
The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  baok 
The  sound  of  anthems  ;  in  the  darkling  wood, 
Amidst  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down 
And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 
And  supplication.     For  his  simple  heart 
Might  not  resist  the  sacred  influences 
"Which,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place. 
And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that  high  in  heaven 
Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 
Of  the  invisible  breath  that  swayed  at  once 
All  their  green  tops,  stole  over  him,  and  bowed 
His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundlessness  and  power 
And  inaccessible  majesty.     Ah,  why 
Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 
Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 
That  our  frail  hands  hare  raised?  '* 

It  is  not  the  educated  and  the  refined  alone  who 
are  subjected  to  the  influences  spoken  of  by  the 
poet ;  the  unlettered  and  unpolished  share  in  them. 
The  rude  hunters  of  the  period  of  which  we  write  — 
dwelling  mostly  apart  from  men,  and  in  constant  war- 
fare with  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest,  or  the  as  wild 
savage  —  were  touched  by  them.  There  was  some 
thing  in  those  dim  twilight  solitudes  that  solemnized 
their  hearts  and  moulded  their  spirits  to  worship. 
Rude  as  they  were,  and  habituated  to  the  rough,  soli- 
tary life  of  the  wilderness,  they  could  not  "  resist  the 
sacred  influences  '*  of  the  place. 
24* 


282  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

In  the  westerly  part  of  New  Gloucester,  there  is  a 
pretty  sheet  of  water  bearing  the  singular  cognomen 
of  "Sabbath-day  Pond."  Tradition  says  that  this 
pond  derived  its  name  from  a  number  of  liuntcrs  avIjo 
used  to  hunt  for  beaver  on  the  streams  in  its  neigli- 
borhood,  and  who  agreed  to  meet  at  this  pond  to  keep 
the  Sabbath.  This  was  the  destination  of  the  Scout ; 
and  the  main  purpose  of  his  journeying  so  late  on  the 
night  in  question  was  to  meet  his  brother  hunters  the 
next  morning  at  the  chosen  spot.  We  mention  these 
facts,  not  as  having  any  particular  connection  with  our 
Btory,  but  merely  to  give  the  reader  a  clearer  insight 
into  the  character  of  one  who  will  be  a  prominent 
actor  in  it,  and  to  show  that,  although  belonging  to  a 
eemi-civilized  class,  leading  a  wild,  unrestrained  life, 
he,  too,  was  touched  with  those  reverential  feelings 
which  Nature  in  some  of  her  aspects  strongly  inspires. 

We  said  we  felt  greatly  inclined  to  follow  in  the 
footsteps  of  the  Scout;  but,  leaving  him  to  pursue  his 
solitary  journey,  we  must  return  to  the  block-house, 
where  the  main  interest  of  our  story  at  present  lies. 

As  the  Scout  surmised,  the  night  passed  without 
disturbance.  The  following  day  being  the  Sabbath,  a 
marked  stillness  prevailed  throughout  the  fort.  Every 
movement  seemed  regulated  by  the  sanctity  of  the 
day.  There  was  a  staidness  of  deportment  and  con- 
versation among  the  inmates,  from  the  oldest  to  the 
youngest,  that  evinced  the  deep  respect  they  cher- 
ished for  the  holy  time.  The  rehgious  sentiment  pre- 
dominated among  the  early  settlers,  and  marked  them 
as  a  "peculiar  people."  The  historian  tells  us  that 
*'the  proprietors  of  the  towns,  when  they  had  but  their 


THE  SETTLERS.  283 

fort  and  garrison,  took  care  to  have  the  pnhlic  wor- 
ship of  God  maintained  in  it  on  the  Sabbath." 

Divine  service  was  performed  both  in  the  forenoon 
and  afternoon,  conducted  in  a  very  acceptable  manner 
by  Deacon  Millet.  After  the  services  were  over, 
Worthly  and  young  Millet  ascended  the  tower,  where 
they  were  soon  joined  by  Ellen  and  Annie.  It  was  in 
the  depth  of  the  Indian  summer,  and  was  one  of  tliose 
warm,  delicious  days  pecuhar  to  the  season.  There 
"^vas  a  slight  haze  in  the  atmosphere,  not  enough  to 
obscure  the  view,  but  just  sufficient  to  soften  down 
and  mellow  the  scene.  It  was  like  a  delicate  veil  on 
a  beautiful  woman,  not  concealing  but  enhancing  her 
charms. 

The  view  spread  out  before  the  party  was  sur- 
passingly grand  and  beautiful.  On  three  sides  of 
them  the  forest  stretched  away  for  miles,  gorgeously 
colored,  as  if  a  thousand  rainbows  w^ere  entangled  in 
its  meshes,  while  bounding  their  vision  far  in  the  dis- 
tance the  misty  hills  shot  up  their  purple  heights  into 
the  golden  air.  It  was  such  a  scene  as  Bryant 
painted : 

**  The  mountains  that  enfold 
In  their  wide  sweep  the  colored  landscape  round 
Seem  groups  of  giant  kings,  in  purple  and  gold, 
Thafr  guard  the  enchanted  ground. ' ' 

In  front  of  them,  with  here  and  there  a  tree  inter- 
spersed, was  a  clearing  to  the  margin  of  the  river, 
which  in  graceful  bends  flowed  now  calmly  in  gleam- 
ing splendor,  and  now  in  sparkling  ripples  as  it  broke 
over  some  mimic  fall;  while  all  along  its  banks  the 
Btill  water  reflected  the  variegated  hues  of  the  trees 


284  FOBEST  AND   SHORE. 

and  slinibbery  that  bent  over  it.  It  seemed  like  some 
enclianted  stream,  whose  bed  was  paved  with  gold 
and  encrusted  with  myriad  gems,  the  brilliant  colors 
of  which  lent  to  the  tide  their  varied  dyes.  Not  a 
breath  of  air  was  stirring,  nor  a  sound  heard  to  dis- 
turb the  holy  tranquilHty  of  the  scene. 

"  Beautiful,  gloriously  beautiful !  "  exclaimed  Ellen, 
in  a  subdued  tone,  after  gazing  a  while  spell-bound 
with  the  sight. 

'^  You  look  sad,  Annie,"  said  George,  stepping  to 
the  side  of  his  cousin ;  "  how  can  you  be  sad  with 
such  a  scene  before  you  ?  " 

"  Not  sad,  George,  but  there  is  a  strange  feeling 
that  thrills  me  when  I  gaze  upon  such  a  splendid 
scene  as  we  now  behold.  I  feel  oppressed  with  vague 
yearnings  for  I  know  not  what;"  and  a  faint  smile  illu- 
mined her  countenance. 

'*  They  are  common  to  us  all,  Annie,  I  beheve," 
remarked  Worthly.  '^  Who  has  not  been  oppressed 
with  the  gorgeousness  of  an  autumnal  sunset,  and,  as 
the  light  slowly  departed,  felt  almost  a  willingness 
that  his  hfe  should  flow  out  with  the  fading  hght  ?  " 

"  The  emotions  we  experience  at  that  hour,  Henry, 
are  vastly  unlike  those  excited  by  the  present  scene," 
said  Ellen ;  ''  at  least,  it  is  so  in  my  case.  As  the  light 
dies  away  over  the  distant  hihs,  and  the  shades  of 
evening  thicken  gradually  over  the  scene,  I  am  filled 
with  an  overpowering  dreariness.  The  deepening 
shadows  seem  to  penetrate  and  veil  my  heart,  shroud- 
ing it  in  gloom.  I  feel  as  if  standing  before  some 
vast  sepulchre,  —  as  if  a  visible  eternity  were  spread 
out  before  me.  No  wonder  you  smile,  Henry^  to  hear 
me  talk  thus." 


THE  SETTLERS.  285 

"And  how  does  this  scene  affect  you,  Nell?"  asked 
her  companion. 

^'  It  raises  my  thoughts  to  a  brighter,  purer,  more 
glorious  world,  of  which  it  seems  the  type ;  only  in 
that  higher  sphere  there  will  be  no  change." 

^'  I  believe  it  is  the  very  idea  of  the  transitorinesa 
of  the  pomp  that  surrounds  us,"  remarked  Annie, 
"  that  imbues  me  with  melancholy.  We  sigh  to  think 
that  such  a  show  of  magnificence  will  in  a  few  days 
pass  away  like  a  dream." 

"  But  only  to  be  succeeded  by  other,  though  varied 
displays.  There  is  cheer  in  that  thought,  Annie," 
added  George. 

"Let  us  have  a  hymn,"  said  Ellen,  suddenly. 
"  Think  of  one,  Henry,  appropriate  to  the  time  and 
the  scene  around  us." 

The  proposition  was  at  once  acceded  to,  and  soon 
the  four  voices  in  rich  accord  were  blended  in  one  of 
those  old  German  chorals,  which  seem  to  embody  the 
very  soul  of  harmony.  This  was  the  opening  stanza 
of  the  hymn : 

**  0  Lord,  our  heavenly  King, 
Thy  name  is  all  divine ; 
Thy  glories  round  the  earth  are  spread. 
And  o'er  the  heavens  they  shine !  " 

Their  voices  were  musical  and  well  balanced,  and 
the  scene,  the  hour,  and  the  words,  that  were  so  ap- 
propriate to  the  occasion,  seemed  to  inspire  the  sing- 
ers. As  the  song  arose  on  the  stilly  air,  first  one  and 
then  another  of  the  inmates  of  the  block-house  came 
out  into  the  enclosure,  until  at  last  all  were  gathered 


286  FOREST  AJJfD   SHOKE. 

in  front   of  the  building,  listening   with   rapt  atten- 
tion to  the  sublime  strains. 

"  It  is  well,  my  dear  children,"  said  the  deacon,  in  a 
tone  of  gratification,  as  the  last  noJ;e  died  away ;  "  it 
is  a  most  fitting  song,  and  -we  trust  an  acceptable  one 
to  our  'heavenly  King.'  Let  us  now  all  unite  in  my 
favorite  hymn."  And,  taking  the  lead  from  those  in 
the  tower,  the  whole  assembly  joined  in  singing  that 
grand  composition,  Luther's  celebrated  "  Judgment 
IJymn."  As  the  tones  swelled  upon  the  air,  the  sun 
dipped  behind  the  distant  hills,  and  so  closed  the  first 
Sabbath  in  the  block-house. 


CHAPTER    y. 

More  than  a  week  passed  away  without  bringing 
any  signs  of  the  Indians.  Frequently  those  to  whom 
confinement  was  irksome  would  venture  outside  the 
palisade,  taking  care  to  go  well  armed.  Growing 
more  and  more  bold  as  the  enemy  did  not  appear, 
they  would  linger  around  their  fields  and  dwellings ; 
some  of  them  w^ould  resort  to  the  river  for  the  pur- 
pose of  fishing,  and  others,  more  hazardous  still,  would 
roam  into  the  forest  in  search  of  game. 

It  may  be  supposed  that,  to  the  younger  portion 
of  the  Millet  family,  the  restraint  to  which  they  were 
subjected  was  borne  very  patiently.  They  found  re- 
lief in  each  other's  society,  and  the  constant  contact 
into  w^hich  they  were  thrown  tended  to  mature  those 
mutual  sentiments  of  regard  at  which  we  have  hinted. 

A  fortnight  bad  nearly  elapsed  since  they  had  taken 


THE  SETTLEBa.  287 

refngo  in  the  fort,  when,  one  morning,  Ellen  proposed 
to  her  brother  that  they  should  visit  their  home,  from 
which  they  had  fled,  for  some  article  which  she  had 
not  brought  away.  George  readily  agreed  to  the  pro- 
posal ;  but  Worthly,  who  at  the  moment  entered  the 
room,  strongly  advised  their  not  risking  the  venture. 

''  There  is  not  the  least  danger,  Ilcnry,"  said  young 
Millet.  "  A  number  of  the  people  have  been  out  all 
day,  and  some  of  them  have  scoured  the  woods.  I 
have  my  doubts,  after  all,  if  the  Scout  was  not  mis- 
taken, and  raised  a  needless  alarm." 

"  No,  no,  George,  he  is  not  the  man  to  do  that,"  re- 
plied Worthly,  with  much  earnestness.  "  Depend  upon 
it,  there  is  danger  abroad.  Remember  his  parting  in- 
junction. He  knows,  better  than  we  do,  the  character 
of  the  Indians,  and  the  arts  they  employ  to  lull  their 
intended  victims  to  a  sense  of  security." 

"  There  can  be  no  danger,  Henry,"  said  Ellen,  turn- 
ing towards  Worthly,  "  else  why  have  you  ventured 
out  for  the  last  two  days  ?  Even  now  you  have  just 
come  from  the  woods.  What  you  have  said  was  only 
intended  to  frighten  us." 

"  I  went  out  on  an  errand  for  my  father,  and  I  had 
the  means  to  defend  me.  I  took  a  little  circuit  in  the 
woods  to  assure  myself  that  the  savages  were  not 
lurking  in  the  neighborhood." 

"And  you  detected  no  signs  of  them?" 

"  Not  the  least." 

"  Then  I  may  surely  go  in  safety,"  rejoined  Ellen, 
laughingly.  "Ah,  Henry,  you  are  fond  of  teasing 
one."    And  she  gave  him  an  arch  smile. 

"  No,  dear  Ellen,"  replied  Henry  to  her,  aside,  in  a 
tone  which  brought  the  warm  blood  to  her  cheeks. 


288  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

*'  not  teasing ;  but,  when  not  only  your  life  but  my 
happiness  is  at  stake,  can  you  blame  me  for  undue 
apprehensions?  But  go,  if  you  will;  I  shall  wait 
anxiously  for  your  return.  Would  that  I  could  ac- 
company you." 

"  Do  not  be  troubled  about  us,"  said  George,  gayly. 
"  We  shall  be  back  in  good  season,  to  laugh  at  your 
fears."  And,  shouldering  his  gun,  he  and  Ellen  left 
the  block-house  and  proceeded  on  their  way. 

Worthly  was  half  tempted  to  follow  them ;  but  his 
father  required  his  presence  at  the  time,  and  he  reluc- 
tantly remained  behind.  Although  satisfied  by  per- 
sonal scrutiny  that  no  imminent  danger  threatened 
them,  yet  ho  felt  ill  at  ease,  and,  after  an  hour  had 
elapsed,  he  frequently  resorted  to  a  port-hole  in  his 
room,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  clearing,  to 
watch  for  their  return.  Nor  was  he  the  only  anxious 
watcher.  Annie  had  not  heard  of  the  excursion  until 
the  parties  had  been  gone  some  time,  and  her  appre- 
hensions were  tenfold  greater  than  Henry's.  Imme- 
diately en  being  informed  of  the  fact,  she  ascended 
to  the  tc^wer,  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  small 
opening  in  the  woods,  by  the  rustic  bridge,  whence 
they  would  issue  on  their  return. 

"  How  could  he  be  so  rash?"  she  murmured  to  her- 
self, with  pallid  lips ;  "  and  after  all  the  warnings  that 
were  given  him ! "  And,  leaning  her  cheek  on  her 
Land,  with  her  eyes  fixed  in  one  direction,  she  gave 
way  to  every  fear  which  an  active  imagination  could 
conjure  up.  She  imagined  George  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  the  savages,  bound  and  scourged.  She  pic- 
tured him,  now  lying  bleeding  and  lifeless,  a  ghastly 
corpse ;  and  now  chained  to  the  stake,  amid  the  burn- 


THE   SETTLERS.  2 8 'J 

ing  pile,  and  surrounded  by  his  infuriated  captors.  So 
wholly  absorbed  were  her  feehngs  in-him  she  had  not 
a  thought  for  tlie  fate  of  Ellen.  George  alone  was  the 
object  on  which  her  thoughts  were  concentrated,  and 
for  whom  her  sympathies  were  enlisted. 

She  sat  there  for  some  time,  buried  in  a  painful  rev- 
ery,  when  she  was  startled  by  two  distant  reports, 
fired  in  rapid  succession.  This  she  knew  had  been 
agreed  upon  when  danger  was  near.  As  she  rose 
wildly  to  her  feet,  her  fears  were  confirmed  by  seeing 
a  young  man  on  horseback  crossing  the  bridge  at  a 
furious  rate,  and  making  signs,  evidently  of  warning, 
to  others  in  the  vicinity.  Scarcely  waiting  to  take  a 
second  glance,  with  trembling  limbs  and  tottering 
steps  Annie  rushed  from  the  tower,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, with  a  face  of  ashy  whiteness,  stood  in  the 
presence  of  Worthly. 

"  He  is  attacked !  he  is  attacked !  0  God,  save 
him  ! "  she  cried,  in  agonizing  tones,  wringing  her  hands 
distractedly. 

Henry  did  not  stop  to  hear  more,  but,  rushing  into 
an  adjoining  room  where  were  two  or  three  other 
young  men,  he  shouted,  "  My  rifle,  my  rifle  !  Follow 
me,  all  of  you  I  Ellen  Millet  is  taken  by  the  Indians." 
And,  darting  from  the  room,  he  was  soon  outside  of 
the  defences,  and  far  down  the  clearing,  ere  those 
whom  he  had  addressed  had  suflSciently  recovered 
from  their  surprise  to  obey  him. 

With  a  speed  almost  rivalhng  that  of  the  deer, 
"Worthly  pressed  towards  the  bridge,  while,  far  in  the 
rear,  three  or  four  others  followed  in  hot  pursuit, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  overtake  him.  With  panther- 
like  springs  he  crossed  the  bridge  and  dashed  along 
25 


25>0  FOIigST   AND   SHORE. 

the  road  leading  to  Mr.  Millet's  house.  His  brain  was 
in  a  whirl,  and  it  was  some  time  before  he  checked  his 
speed  and  strove  to  collect  his  thoughts  to  form  some 
plan  of  action.  Precipitation  he  knew  might  ruin  all ; 
and  he  felt  the  necessity  of  acting  with  coolness  and 
deliberation.  Proceeding  on  the  road  with  a  less  rapid 
pace,  he  struggled  to  subdue  the  tumult  within,  for  his 
mind  was  excited  almost  to  frenzy  at  the  idea  of  Ellen's 
seizure. 

As  Annie's  sole  thoughts  were  centred  on  George 
when  she  implored  Henry  to  save  him,  so  were  the 
thoughts  of  Worthly  wholly  concentrated  on  Ellen. 
It  was  her  peril  alone  that  filled  his  mind.  lie  had 
not  stopped  to  question  Annie's  statement,  but  had 
rushed  forth  on  the  first  impulse,  supposing  Ellen  was 
in  danger ;  and  now,  as  he  drew  near  to  the  house, 
observing  the  perfect  quiet  that  reigned  around  him, 
seeing  nothing  to  indicate  the  presence  of  the  foe,  it 
first  occurred  to  him  that  Annie  might  have  been  mis- 
taken. He  had  not  heard  the  report  of  the  guns,  nor 
had  he  observed  the  horseman ;  and  the  query  now 
arose  in  his  mind,  how  should  Annie  have  been  in- 
formed of  the  attack? 

He  had  now  arrived  within  sight  of  the  house,  the 
door  of  which  stood  open,  as  if  the  party  in  whose 
safety  he  was  so  much  interested  were  inside.  His 
fears  in  a  great  degree  subsided,  as  he  saw  no  signs 
of  a  struggle  in  the  neighborhood ;  and,  as  he  drew 
near,  he  listened,  expecting  to  hear  Ellen's  well-known 
voice,  while  he  watched  the  open  door,  anticipating 
her  appearance.  He  had  not  proceeded  many  steps, 
however,  before  his  worst  fears  were  reahzed.  A  few 
rods  from  th«  door,  on  the  edge  of  thd  forost,  he  diis* 


THE    SETTLEHS.  291 

covered  tHe  corpse  of  an  Indian,  his  brain  crushed  in 
by  a  bullet.  Fluttering  in  one  of  liis  hands,  held  by 
the  strong  death-clutch,  was  a  portion  of  Ellen's  dress. 
The_ truth  at  once  flashed  on  Henry's  mind.  The  sav- 
age had  seized  Ellen,^and  had  met  his  death  from 
George's  rifle.     But  where  were  they? 

He  wildly  shouted  their  names.  Again  and  again 
be  called  upon  them ;  but  no  answer  was  returned.  A 
stillness  as  of  death  succeeded  his  cries,  and  brooded 
over  the  spot.  His  brain  reeled  as  the  terrible  truth 
was  forced  upon  him  that  they  had  been  murdered. 
He  shuddered  as  he  looked  around  him,  fearing  that 
his  glance  might  fall  on  Ellen's  mangled  remains. 
Racked  with  almost  insupportable  agony,  he  stood  by 
the  body  of  the  dead  savage,  gazing  distractedly 
around  him,  when  the  young  men  who  followed  him 
came  panting  to  his  side. 

"0  God !  what  shall  be  done,  Stevens?"  he  said,  in 
a  hollow  tone,  addressing  the  foremost.  "  Look  —  tell 
them  to  look  for  her  body."  And  he  leaned  for  a 
moment  against  a  tree,  completely  prostrated  in  body 
and  mind. 

He  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  Ellen's  fate,  for, 
maddened  by  the  fall  of  one  of  their  band,  the  sav- 
ages would  not  hesitate  to  despatch  her  at  once.  He 
was  naturally  of  strong  nerves ;  but  the  certainty  he 
felt  of  soon  being  called  to  gaze  upon  the  idol  of  his 
heart,  horribly  despoiled  by  the  cruel  scalping-knife, 
the  fair  temple  of  her  brain  shattered  by  the  murder- 
ous tomahawk,  for  the  time  entirely  overcame  him. 
The  weakness  soon  passed  away  ;  but  the  pallor  on  his- 
cheeks  too  plainly  told  of  the  inward  struggle. 

A  few  minutes  bad  ©lapsed,  when  one  of  the  party, 


292  FOREST    AND    SHORE. 

who  had  gone  a  short  distance  further  on  toward  the 
Little  Androscoggin,  called  the  attention  of  the  rest 
to  a  discovery  he  had  made.  All  of  them  rushed 
eagerly  to  the  spot.  Among  the  underbrush,  by  the 
side  of  a  broad  trail,  evidently  thrown  there  to  attract 
attention,  was  a  ribbon,  which  Ellen  was  known  to 
have  worn  around  her  neck  that  day. 

"  She  is  not  only  alive,"  said  Stevens,  pointing  to 
the  discovery,  "  but  she  has  her  wits  about  her,  and 
has  contrived  to  give  us  a  hint  of  the  direction  her 
captors  have  taken." 

"  Let  us  follow  on,"  said  Henry,  a  burden  rolling 
from  his  mind  as  he  seized  the  treasured  token ;  and 
the  party  immediately  pressed  forward  in  pursuit. 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  banks  of  the 
Little  Androscoggin,  and  a  simultaneous  exclamation 
told  of  a  new  discovery.  Far  up  the  stream,  close  in 
shore,  as  if  to  avoid  observation,  a  canoe  was  seen, 
urged  rapidly  forward  by  two  savages.  In  the  bows 
sat  a  female,  readily  recognized  as  Ellen.  Casting  one 
glance  at  the  fugitives,  Worthly  started  from  the  spot 
and  plunged  into  the  forest  at  the  left. 

There  was  a  long  bend  in  tne  river  at  this  point, 
which  swept  round  so  as  to  leave  but  a  narrow  pas- 
sage of  land  between  the  two  points  of  the  stream. 
Henry's  movement  was  at  once  divined. 

"  He  's  going  to  head  them  off,"  said  young  Stevens. 
"  I  will  follow  him,  and  the  rest  of  you  had  better  be 
looking  round  to  see  if  you  can  discover  anything 
of  George." 

Leaving  them  to  this  employment,  —  which  we  may 
as  well  say  was  fruitless,  —  we,  too,  will  follow  in 
Henry's  steps. 


THE   SETTLERS.  293 

Scarcely  noticing  tlie  obstacles  wliicli  beset  liis 
path,  the  yonng  man  pressed  forward  with  incredible 
speed.  Leaping  over  fallen  trees,  over  broken  rocks, 
forcing  his  Avay  through  thicket  and  bush,  on  he  went. 
But  not  a  moment  too  soon.  As  he  broke  through 
the  last  clump  of  bushes  and  stood  on  the  margin  of 
the  stream,  the  canoe  was  nearly  abreast  of  him. 
The  moment  he  appeared,  one  of  the  Indians  dropped 
Lis  paddle  and  sprang  forward.  As  quick  as  thought 
Worthly  levelled  his  rifle,  but,  before  he  could  sight  it, 
the  Indian  had  seized  Ellen,  and,  raising  her  up  in 
front  of  him,  he  shouted  in  the  ear  of  the  terrified 
girl,  "  Speak !  Tell  him,  shoot  'em  Indian,  me  kill  'em 
squaw!"  and  he  brandished  the  tomahawk  menacingly 
over  her  head. 

"Do  not  fire,  Henry ;  he  threatens  to  kill  me  if  you 
del" 

An  instant  more,  and  the  caution  would  have  come 
too  late,  for  already  was  Henry's  finger  pressing  hard 
upon  the  trigger.  But  the  consequences  of  such  an 
act  suddenly  flashed  upon  his  mind,  and  he  refrained. 
Well  he  knew  that  it  was  no  idle  threat  of  the  savage; 
that,  at  the  flash  of  his  -rifle,  the  tomahawk  would  be 
buried  in  the  brain  of  Ellen;  and  with  almost  a  shud- 
der he  lowered  his  weapon.  The  Indian,  however,  as 
if  distrusting  his  intent ione,  still  stood  with  the  tom- 
ahawk raised  ready  to. give  the  fatal  blow.  In  the 
meanwhile  his  companion  still  urged  the  frail  bark  on 
its  course. 

"Ellen,  dear  Ellen!"  exclaimed  Henry,  in  an  agi- 
tated voice,  "must  I  leave  you  in  their  hands?  God 
knows  I  would  willingly  sacrifice  my  hie  to  save 
yours." 

26* 


29 -i  FOKEil    ASD    SHUKE. 

"I  clo  not  doubt  it,  TTenry,  and  I  am  grateful  for  it. 
But  courage  !  I  do  not  tbink  my  bfe  is  in  danger. 
Comfort  motbcr  as  well  as  you  can,  and  let  us  liope 
for  tbe  best." 

The  courage  displayed  by  tlie  heroic  girl  was  not 
without  its  effect  on  Worthly.  The  canoe  was  fast 
receding  from  him,  and,  wishing  to  learn  the  fate  of 
George,  he  asked,  ''  What  of  your  brother,  Ellen?  " 

"  lie  was  wounded,  and  has  gone  ahead  of  us  in 
another  canoe.  Good-by,  Henry.  Perhaps  you  can 
find  some  way  to  release  me.  Keej)  up  your  spirits; 
I  shall  try  and  not  despond." 

"  (xood-by,  and  God  bless  you,  dear  Ellen  I  I  will 
rescue  you  or  die  in  the  attempt." 

Just  beyond  this  bend,  the  river  takes  an  abrupt 
turn  around  quite  a  high  bluff.  Worthly  stood  watch- 
ing the  canoe  as  it  approached  this  point  with  feelings 
more  readily  imagined  than  described.  The  Indian 
Lad  lowered  his  weapon,  but  he  still  retained  his  posi- 
tion back  of  Ellen.  Just  as  the  canoe  passed  around 
the  bluff  and  was  lost  to  sight,  Ellen  raised  her  hand 
and  gave  a  parting  signal;  the  next  moment  the  little 
bark  was  hidden  from  view.  As  she  disappeared, 
Henry  turned  with  a  bitter  sigh  to  retrace  his  steps. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

,  The  agony  of  the  good  deacon  and  his  wife,  and  of 
Annie  Wilson,  we  should  vainly  attempt  to  describe. 
As  one  after  another  of  the  party  who  had  gone  out 
in  pursuit  returned  to  the  block-house,  they  were  met 


THE  SETTLERS.  2&6 

by  Mrs.  Millet  and  Annie,  who,  striving  to  catcli  some 
gleam  of  hope,  wildly  importuned  each  in  regard  to 
the  missing  ones.  When  at  last  Worthly  returned, 
bringing  certain  tidings  of  their  captivity,  their  cup 
of  anguish  was  filled  to  the  brim.  In  the  frenzy  of 
her  grief,  the  mother  rapidly  paced  the  room,  wringing 
her  hands  and  calling  distractedly  the  names  of  her 
children,  while  Annie  sat  by  a  table,  pale  and  tearless, 
a  moan  of  distress  from  time  to  time  breaking  from 
her  lips.  Occasionally  she  would  press  her  hand  to 
Ler  forehead,  and  look  around  bewilderingly,  in  a  pit- 
eous manner,  as  if  inquiring  the  nature  of  the  great 
woe  that  had  come  upon  her.  Mr.  Millet  strove  hard 
to  restrain  his  emotions,  that  he  might  minister  com- 
fort to  his  partner;  but  the  struggle  was  a  hard  one, 
and  the  strong  man  shook  like  a  reed. 

Henry,  after  announcing  his  information,  had  left 
the  room.  In  a  short  time  he  re-entered,  accompanied 
by  two  oth^r  young  men,  b}^  the  names  of  Stevens  and 
Eveleth,  all  completely  armed  and  equipped  for  a 
journey. 

''God  be  praised!"  said  Mrs.  Millet,  springing  to 
Henry's  side.  "  You  will  save  them,  you  w411  restore 
them  to  us  !  "  and  she  clung  convulsively  to  his  arm. 

"  We  shall  make  the  attempt,  Mrs.  Millet,'^  replied 
Henry,  "  but  God  only  knows  what  will  be  the  issue. 
What  men  can  do,  we  have  resolved  to  accomplish, 
even  to  the  sacrifice  of  life,  if  necessary." 

''  Bless  you  !  bless  you,  young  man !  A  mother's 
prayers  will  follow  you." 

"  Deacon  Millet,"  said  Henry,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, "  the  fate  of  your  daughter  is  at  this  moment 
uncertain,  and  I  am  about  to  peril  my  life  in  her  b«- 


296  POREST    AND    SHORE. 

half.  The  probabilities  of  my  safe  return  are  slight. 
This,  then,  is  no  time  for  concealments.  Tlie  lii'e  of 
Ellen,  sir,  is  as  dear  to  me,  more  dear,  if  possible,  than 
it  is  to  you.  I  do  not  ask  you  at  this  inauspicious 
moment  to  sanction  these  sentiments  so  long  enter- 
tained ;  I  only  allude  to  them  to  afford  you  assurance 
that  nothing  will  be  left  undone  to  insure  her  safety.'^ 

"  Restore  her  to  us,  young  man,"  said  the  deacon, 
pressing  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  "and  Ellen  is 
yours.'' 

With  a  kindling  eye  Henry  turned  and  approached 
the  aged  man,  and,  kneeling  before  him,  said,  "  Father, 
your  blessing." 

The  old  man  placed  his  hands  reverently  on  the 
youth's  head,  and,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion, 
said,  "  May  God  Almighty  bless  you,  my  son,  and  pros- 
per you  in  your  perilous  undertaking." 

As  young  Millet  arose  from  his  knees,  a  bustle 
was  heard  in  the  adjoining  room,  words  of  surprise 
and  welcome  were  uttered,  the  door  opened,  and  the 
tall  form  of  the  Scout  entered.  Uis  presence  was 
hailed  with  exclamations  of  joy. 

"  Wal,''  he  said,  in  his  own  rough  way,  when  an  op- 
portunity was  afforded  him  to  speak,  "  there 's  been 
purty  doings  here,  I  Parn.  Didn't  I  warn  you  about 
the  pesky  varmints  ?  Did  n't  I?  —  But  that 's  neither 
here  nor  there,  now,"  he  continued,  after  a  shght 
pause.     "  Let  us  hear  the  sarcumstances." 

He  was  soon  put  in  possession  of  all  the  facts,  and 
then  Henry  informed  him  of  the  expedition  just  set- 
ting out. 

"Let  us  consider  first,  let  us  consider  a  while,"  said 
the  old  hunter,  Bedately.     "  The  woods  are  swarming 


THE  SETTLERS.  297 

with  the  rcptvlcs,  and  it  won't  be  no  child's  play.  We 
must  go  to  work  Avith  our  eyes  open." 

''  Then  you  will  assist  in  rescuing  them  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Millet,  hurriedly. 

"  Sartain,  ma'am  I  I  Ve  a  grudge  agin  the  whole 
race,  and  mean  to  pay  it,  too.  Give  yourself  no  con- 
sarn  about  the  young  folks ;  we  '11  return  'em  to  you 
all  safe,  I  reckon.  Come,  boys,  let  us  see  what  prepa- 
rations you  have  made ; "  and,  bidding  the  rest  good-by, 
the  party  left  the  room. 

On  consultation,  the  Scout  was  opposed  to  having 
any  but  Worthly  with  him ;  but,  when  he  heard  that 
George  was  wounded,  he  changed  his  mind. 

^'  If  the  party  are  Ossipees,  as  I  consate,  —  and  we 
can  tell  by  the  dead  Injun,  —  I  know  where  their 
camping-ground  is.  Let  us  go  down  the  road,  and  we 
can  talk  the  matter  over  as  we  go  along.'' 

So  saying,  the  company  left  the  block-house  and 
proceeded  to  the  scene  of  attack.  It  was  getting  late 
in  the  afternoon  when  they  arrived  at  the  Millet 
house.  The  Scout  immediately  sought  the  corpse  of 
the  savage. 

"  I  consated  so,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  stooped 
and  removed  a  portion  of  its  dress,  thus  exposing  the 
naked  breast.  "  'T  is  an  Ossipee ;  here  is  his  totem ; " 
and  he  pointed  to  the  figure  of  a  tortoise  imprinted 
on  the  skin.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  Indians  to 
wear  the  badge  of  their  tribes  on  their  persons,  —  a 
"  totem,"  as  it  was  called,  being  the  figure  of  a  bird, 
fish  or  reptile. 

''  Now,  youngsters,  I  will  give  you  my  idees  when 
we  reach  the  river.  I  've  a  canoe  hidden  away  there 
somewhere  among  the  bushes.     Follow  me,  and  be  as 


298  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

still  as  possible ;"  and  the  Scout  took  the  lead  through 
the  forest,  with  whose  intricacies  he  appeared  to  be 
perfectly  familiar.  Having  arrived  at  the  banks  of 
the  stream,  the  Scout  entered  a  thicket  of  evergreens, 
and  soon  returned,  bearing  a  birchen  canoe. 

"  This,  now,  is  my  plan.  You  two,"  addressing 
Henry's  companions,  "  will  take  to  the  river  as  soon 
as  it  gets  darker,  and  go  as  far  up  as  the  upper  falls, 
and  when  you  get  there,  draw  your  canoe  close  to  the 
left  bank  under  the  foliage,  where  it  will  be  out  of 
sight.  Mind,  boys,  what  I  say  to  you :  keep  a  still 
tongue  in  your  heads.  You  Ve  hearn  tell  of  a  whis- 
per among  the  mountains  bringing  down  an  avalanche 
on  travellers'  heads :  I  tell  yer,  a  whisper  on  the  river 
in  such  a  still  night  as  this  may  bring  down  upon  you 
something  worse  than  a  heap  of  snow.  Be  careful, 
too,  of  your  paddles ;  keep  in  the  shadows  as  much  as 
possible  ;  and,  above  all,  keep  your  eyes  and  ears  open. 
I  will  meet  you  at  the  falls.  Can  you  remember 
this?'^  and  the  Scout  gave  a  cry  so  resembling  that 
of  a  night-owl  that  the  most  practised  ear  would  have 
been  deceived.  "  That  wiU  be  a  signal  that  I  am  in 
the  neighborhood.     Can  either  of  you  reply  to  it?  " 

Young  Eveleth  made  the  efifort,  and  succeeded  so 
well  as  to  win  the  commendation  of  the  Scout. 

"  Very  well  done  !  You  must  answer  my  call.  You 
and  I,  youngster,"  he  continued,  addressing  Henry, 
"  will  take  to  the  woods ;  and,  as  the  sun  is  about 
down,  the  sooner  we  are  oflf  the  better.'^ 

Cautioning  the  two  young  men  not  to  start  until 
the  shadows  fell  on  the  stream,  and  whistling  his  dog 
to  his  side,  the  old  man  and  Worthly  entered  the 


THE   SETTLERS.  209 

woods.  Leaving  the  young  men  to  pursue  tlieir 
course,  we  will  follow  the  Scout  and  his  companion. 

After  proceeding  for  some  distance  in  silence,  the 
old  man  said,  in  a  low  voice:  "  It  was  a  good  shot  that 
the  young  man  made,  clean  through  the  crittur's 
skull,  and  yet  it  may  prove  a  bad  one  for  him.  We 
must  get  him  out  of  their  hands  to-night,  at  all 
events." 

"Shall  we  not  rescue  both?''  asked  Henry,  with 
much  interest. 

"  That  we  '11  detarmine  on  as  things  appear,  but  we 
must  gefthe  boy  clear  first." 

'^  But  why  George,  and  not  Ellen?" 

"Don't  yer  see,"  said  the  old  man,  emphatically, 
"  there  's  blood  been  spilt,  and  life  for  life  is  their  doc- 
trine ;  as  though  one  of  those  hathens,"  he  continued, 
in  a  sort  of  parenthesis,  "  was  worth  as  much  y.s  a  nat- 
'ral-born  Christian." 

"  I  had  no  fears  for  his  life,"  said  Worthly. 

"  You  told  me  the  youngster  was  wounded,  did 
you  not?  AVal,  now,  is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
the  varmints  would  trouble  themselves  to  carry  him 
off,  unless  it  was  to  wreak  their  vengeance  on  him?" 

"  But  why  did  they  not  kill  him  on  the  spot?  " 

"  That  would  n't  satisfy  the  bloody  sarpents.  You've 
hearn  tell  of  the  stake,  of  pitch  splinters,  and  such 
like  devilish  tortures,  I  suppose  ?  That 's  why  they 
didn't  kill  him  on  the  spot,  youngster." 

"  And  will  they  not  subject  Ellen  to  the  same  fear- 
ful treatment?"  asked  Henry,  shuddering  as  the  ter- 
rible thought  shot  across  his  mind. 

"  There  's  not  much  danger  of  that.  The  infarnal 
scamps,  though  they  delight  in  blood,  love  money  bet^ 


300  FOREST   A^D   SHORE. 

ter.  The  worst  tliey  will  do  will  be  to  carry  her  to 
Canada  and  sell  her  to  the  French.  They  '11  never 
kill  women  as  long  as  they  can  find  a  good  market  for 
them. 

"  Cheer  up,  my  boy/'  added  the  hunter,  noticing, 
after  a  pause,  the  dejection  of  his  companion;  "there's 
no  saying  but  we  may  get  them  both  off.  My  idee  is, 
to  make  sure  of  the  youngster,  get  him  safely  out  of 
their  clutches  into  the  canoe,  and  start  him  down  the 
river.  If  we  do  this  without  disturbing  the  venom- 
ous snakes,  we  will  attend  to  the  gal's  case.  But 
hist !  Brave  smells  mischief.  What  is  it,  pup  ? " 
whispered  the  Scout. 

The  dog,  which  was  a  little  in  advance  of  them, 
suddenly  stopped  and  gave  a  low  growl. 

"Is  it  a  red-skin,  pup?"  said  the  Scout,  approach- 
ing the  animal. 

The  dog  lifted  his  nose  in  the  air  and  snuffed 
eagerly  for  a  moment;  then,  as  if  satisfied,  looked  his 
master  in  the  face  and  wagged  his  tail,  as  much  as 
saying,  "  All  right  I  "  and  kept  on  his  way  again. 

"  Thar  now,  that  'ere  dog,"  said  the  Scout,  following 
him  unhesitatingly,  "  knows  more'  than  any  human  be- 
ing in  the  settlements.  He  's  been  my  constant  com- 
panion this  many  a  year,  and  I  have  I'arnt  his  ways, 
and  he  has  mine,  so  that  we  perfectly  understand  each 
other.  I  will  tell  you  some  day  of  a  trick  he  played 
upon  the  red-skins  w^hen  they  thought  they  had  me  in 
their  clutches ;  it  was  a  'cute  one.  But  it  is  getting 
dusky,  and  I  must  not  forget  the  caution  I  gave  the 
youngsters  about  a  still  tongue." 

After  this  the  Scout  proceeded  in  silence,  all  the 
way  throwing  quick  and  searching  glances  in  every 


THE  SETTLERS.  301 

direction.     For   mlbs   ho   travelled    in   tliis   manner. 


until  darkness  had  com])letely  fallen.  By  this  time 
they  had  again  struck  the  banks  of  the  stream,  and, 
leaving  the  woods,  they  moved  close  in  their  edge  up 
the  river. 

They  were  evidently  approaching  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Indian  camping-ground,  for  every  movement 
of  the  old  man  betrayed  the  utmost  watchfulness. 
Time  and  again  he  turned  and  whispered  in  his  com- 
panion's ear,  "  Not  a  word,  for  your  life  !  Step  lightly, 
or  the  whole  pack  may  be  upon  us  !  "  and  similar  cau: 
tions.  Occasionally  he  would  stop  short  and  bend  his 
ear  to  the  ground,  listening  eagerly  to  catch  the  slight- 
est sound.  After  proceeding  in  this  manner  for  some 
distance,  the  party  halted  beside  a  clump  of  high 
bushes.  Softly  displacing  them  so  as  to  afford  an 
entrance  into  the  thicket,  the  old  man  bade  Henry 
enter. 

"  Some  of  the  out-lying  varmints  may  be  skulking 
in  the  neighborhood,  but  you  will  be  safe  here,"  said 
the  hunter,  in  suppressed  tones.  "  I  am  going  into 
the  reptyles'  nest  to  see  how  things  look.  Be  on 
your  guard,  and  do  not  stir  a  limb  if  you  can  help  it. 
If  I  had  this  dog's  nose  now,  it  would  be  worth  a 
dozen  pair  of  eyes.     Come,  Brave,  lead  the  way." 

As  if  fully  comprehending  the  nature  of  his'  errand, 
the  noble  dog  took  the  lead,  stepping  with  a  cat-hke 
tread,  and  followed  in  hke  manner  by  his  master.  A 
moment,  and  their  forms  were  not  to  be  seen,  and 
Worthly  could  not  detect  so  much  as  the  crackling  of 
a  twig  to  denote  the  presence  of  a  living  being.  He 
was  alone  and  in  darkness. 
26  , 


302  FOKKST   AND   SHORE. 


CHAPTER    YII. 

The  place  selected  by  the  Indians  for  their  caiTi ping- 
ground  was  in  a  bend  of  the  river,  forming  a  pretty 
cove.  The  forest  here  receded  a  short  distance  from 
the  stream,  leaving  a  clear,  crescent-shaped  spot,  which 
ran  down  slopingly  to  ihe  w^ater's  edge.  On  this  open- 
ing some  dozen  lodges  were  scattered,  in  the  usually 
disordered  manner  of  an  Indian  encampment.  The 
tents  of  the  wandering  tribes  that  annually  visit  our 
neighborhood  at  the  present  day  are  made  of  canvas 
or  stout  cotton  cloth,  and  present  quite  a  comfortable 
appearance;  but  those  of  which  we  are  writing  were 
rudely  constructed  of  such  material  as  the  forest  af- 
forded. Some  of  them  were  made  of  pine  boughs 
laid  over  rough  poles  or  young  saplings,  but  the  outer 
covering  of  the  majority  was  of  birch  bark,  broad 
strips  of  which  are  obtained  from  the  birch  tree. 

In  one  of  these,  on  the  night  in  question,  sat,  or 
rather  half-reclined,  Ellen,  on  the  skin  of  some  wild 
animal,  which,  with  some  regard  to  her  sex,  her  cap- 
tors had  provided  her.  Her  arms  were  confined 
behind  her  back  by  writhes,  and  her  ankles  bound  by 
strips  of  skin.  Pinioned  as  she  was,  she  could  not 
long  retain  a  recumbent  position  with  any  degree  of 
comfort.  A  little  hillock  that  rose  in  one  corner  of  the 
tent  afforded  her  a  leaning  place.  Situated  thus,  the 
reader  can  better  imagine  than  we  can  portray  her 
feelings. 

She  was  a  brave-hearted  girl,  and  not  one  to  give 
way  to  trifling  weakness ;  still,  she  could  not  repress 
the  half-sigh,  half-moan,  that  from  time  to  time  arose 


THE    SETTLERS.  305 

from  her  lips.  What  added  to  the  poignancy  of  her 
distress,  was  the  certainty  of  the  terrible  fate  that 
awaited  her  brother.  Of  her  own  life  she  had  not 
the  least  fear,  so  long  as  she  retained  her  strength, 
for  she  knew  that  the  worst  fate  that  awaited  her 
would  be  a  long,  tedious  journey  through  the  wilder- 
ness, and  it  might  be  a  few  years  of  servitude  among 
the  French  Canadians,  an  escape  from  which  was  fre- 
quently obtained  by  ransom  or  artifice. 

We  said  that  she  had  no  fears  for  her  life,  if  her 
strength  should  hold  out ;  for  she  well  knew  that  it 
was  a  common  practice  with  the  savages,  when  a  cap- 
tive gave  out  on  a  journey  by  reason  of  weakness,  or 
detained  them  much  by  not  being  able  to  keep  up  with 
them,  to'  despatch  him  at  once  and  take  his  scalp.  In 
those  days  the  French  paid  the  Indians  a  bounty  for 
an  English  scalp,  as  some  States  pay  a  bounty  for  the 
ears  of  a  wolf  or  a  wild-cat.  This  horrible  traffic  was 
not  confined  wholly  to  the  French.  Our  mother  State 
at  that  time  paid  a  stipulated  price  for  Indian  scalps ; 
and  it  is  well  attested  that  many  Indians  belonging  to 
friendly  tribes  were  shot  down  by  lawless  rangers  of 
the  woods,  merely  for  the  bounty  paid  for  scalps. 
Who  could  tell  by  the  scalp  whether  it  was  taken  from 
the  head  of  a  friend  or  a  foe  ? 

The  great  distress  experienced  by  Ellen,  we  ha\e 
said,  was  on  her  brother's  account.  She  knew  that  he 
had  killed  one  of  the  tribe ;  she  had  heard  of  their  in- 
exorable law ;  and  she  had  been  a  painful  witness  of 
the  manner  of  his  reception  at  the  encampment.  She 
had  seen  the  savages  dancing  around  him,  brandishing 
their  tomahawks  in  fearful  proximity  to  his  person, 
their  ©yes  glaring  with  almost  ddmoniacal  fury,  while 


304  B^OREST    AND    SHORE. 

their  wild  howls  of  vengeance  shook  the  air.  More 
dreadful  than  all,  she  had  seen,  in  the  carl}'  evening, 
from  the  door  of  her  lodge,  a  stake  planted  in  the 
centre  of  the  encamjmient,  and  heaps  of  dry  brush 
brought  from  the  forest  and  placed  near  it.  This  was 
hardly  needed  to  conQrm  her  worst  fears;  still,  a  sight 
of  the  terrible  preparations  struck  a  sickening  chill  to 
her  heart.  How  could  this  horrible  fate  be  averted  ? 
She  revolved  in  her  mind  all  possible  contingencies, 
but  not  a  ray  of  hope  pierced  the  very  blackness  of 
darkness  which  surrounded  her.  A  cold  despair  set- 
tled upon  her  heart.  All  her  sympathies  enlisted  in 
behalf  of  her  brother,  she  forgot  her  own  sufferings. 

IIow  would  her  heart  have  leaped  for  joy  had  she 
known  that  even  then  there  were  friends  near  at  hand, 
brave  and  determined  men,  ready  to  risk  life  in  res- 
cuing them  from  bondage.  Her  thoughts,  it  is  true, 
often  reverted  to  Worthly,  and  his  promise  to  do  all 
in  his  power  to  rescue  her,  and  she  did  not  doubt  that 
he  would  make  the  attempt.  But  would  he  appear  in 
time  to  save  George  from  his  impending  fate  ?  She 
endeavored  to  obtain  a  gleam  of  hope  from  that 
thought;  but,  when  she  reconsidered  the  matter,  the 
improbability,  nay,  what  she  deemed  the  utter  impossi- 
bility, of  his  tracing  their  route  in  season,  and  bring- 
ing a  force  sufficient  to  overmaster  the  savages, 
convinced  her  at  once  that  to  entertain  such  a  hope 
would  be  sheer  madness. 

"  No,  no,"  she  murmured  to  herself;  "  he  will  come 
too  late  —  too  late!  and  George  must  die!  and  0 
God,  such  a  death  1 ''  And  a  moan  of  anguish  broke 
from  her  lips. 

In  another  lodge,  nearer  to  the   river,  bound  hand 


THE   SETTLEE3.  30o 

and  foot,  so  as  to  be  almost  incapable  of  motion, 
stretched  on  the  cold  sward,  was  George  Millet.  In 
his  encounter  with  the  savages  he  had  received  a 
severe  wound,  which  would  have  been  excessively 
painful  had  not  his  mental  agony  rendered  him  insen- 
sible to  physical  suffering.  He  knew  he  had  but  a 
few  hours  to  live,  —  the  coming  morn  would  witness 
his  death.  Young,  buoyant  "^ith  life  and  hope,  death 
in  any  shape  would  have  been  terrible  to  him ;  but 
from  that  which  awaited  him  he  shrunk  appalled. 

With  a  refinement  of  cruelty,  his  captors  had  pointed 
out  to  him  the  stake  to  which  he  would  be  bound,  and 
had  exhibited  the  splinters  with  which  they  intended 
to  pierce  his  body  and  add  to  his  torture.  He  did  not 
harbor  the  slightest  hope  of  an  escape  from  the  fear- 
ful doom ;  and  for  hours  he  remained  in  a  state  of 
agony,  with  the  fated  stake,  the  burning  pile,  and  the 
flaming  splinters,  continually  in  his  mind.  At  times 
prayers  burst  from  his  lips,  wild  and  incoherent,  the 
ravings  of  despair,  that  death  would  come  and  save  him 
from  the  fiery  trial.  And  then  would  come  thoughts 
of  his  home ;  and  for  a  while  he  would  be  with  his 
parents,  or  sitting  with  Annie  in  the  tower,  relating  to 
her,  as  a  horrible  dream,  his  present  sufierings.  0,  it 
was  terrible,  terrible  beyond  description,  when  the 
delightful  vision  passed  away,  and  his  mind  recurred 
to  his  real  situation.  Great  drops  of  agony  would 
force  themselves  from  his  brow;  and,  bound  as  he 
was,  he  would  writhe  as  one  in  mortal  struggle.  After 
these  momentary  paroxysms,  calmer  feelings  would 
steal  over  him,  and  he  would  strive  to  nerve  himself  to 
endure  with  unflinching  courage  the  doom  before  him. 

We  have  exhibited  the  captive  in  some  of  his  dark- 
26* 


306  FOREST   AND  SHORE. 

est  momenls,  when  his  spirits  were  bowed  in  the  depth 
of  despair.  It  must  not  be  inferred  from  this  that  ho 
was  devoid  of  manhness,  —  a  spiritless  coward.  His 
situation  was  pecuHar:  wounded,  bound,  exhausted, 
in  darkness  and  soh"tude,  with  tlie  certainty  of  an  ex- 
cruciating death  within  a  few  hours  pressing  upon  liis 
mind,  no  wonder  he  quailed.  AVhat  man,  under  the 
circumstances,  would  not  have  quailed?  And  yet, 
when  the  hour  of  trial  should  arrive,  George  would 
probably  face  his  enemies  without  shrinking,  and 
laugh  at  their  savage  cruelties.  We  all  instinctively 
shrink  at  the  thought  of  being  subjected  to  the  surgi- 
cal knife,  but  when  brought  to  the  test  we  submit  to 
the  most  painful  operation  unflinchingly. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  calmer  moods  of  mind,  some- 
where about  midnight,  his  ear  detected  a  slight  move- 
ment outside  the  lodge.  lie  listened  eagerly,  but  for 
a  while  all  was  silent,  and  he  concluded  that  his  ear 
must  have  deceived  him.  No,  there  was  another 
movement.  This  time  it  was  no  deception.  AVhat 
could  it  be  ?  An  animal  prowling  in  the  neighborliood, 
or  an  enemy  come  to  deal  in  secret  the  deatli-blow  ? 
He  remembered  now  that  a  brother  of  the  fallen  In- 
dian was  with  difficulty  restrained  from  wreaking  his 
vengeance  on  him  when  he  first  landed;  he  remem- 
bered the  fierce,  revengeful  look  the  savage  gave  him, 
with  a  secret  threatening  gesture,  as  he  was  led  reluc- 
tantly away  from  the  lodge  into  which  George  was 
thrust.  Was  he  coming  at  this  hour  to  avenge  his 
brother's  death  ? 

George  had  besought  death,  but  the  idea  of  its  near 
approach,  there  in  the  darkness  and  soUtude,  startled 
him.      Waoever  was   seeking   him,  be  was   in   their 


THE   SKTTLERS.  307 

power,  for  he  was  incapable  of  resistance,  and  wonU 
prove  an  easy  victim.  With  all  his  senses  on  the  alert, 
he  again  listened.  The  same  movement  continued,  as 
if  some  one  were  trying  to  obtain  entrance  through 
the  boughs  of  which  the  lodge  Avas  composed.  He 
heard  the  bushes  carefully  put  aside,  and  then  a  sound 
as  of  some  one  forcing  a  passage.  George  remained 
perfectly  still,  holding  his  breath  with  suspense,  every 
moment  expecting  to  receive  the  crushing  blow  of  the 
tomahawk  or  the  sharp  thrust  of  a  knife.  Ilis  position 
was  near  the  entrance  of  the  tent,  while  the  intruder 
came  from  the  rear.  The  young  man  could  hear,  al- 
most feel,  the  slow  approach  of  his  mysterious  visitor, 
and  a  cold,  clammy  sweat  burst  from  every  pore. 
Seconds  seemed  hours,  minutes  ages,  in  that  fearful 
crisis.  The  hand  of  the  unknown  touched  his  arm ; 
and  0  !  what  a  revulsion  of  feeling  did  he  experience, 
how  did  his  heart  throb,  and  his  whole  frame  thrill,  as 
his  ear  caught  a  just  audible  whisper: 
"  Boy,  boy  !  where  on  'arth  are  you?  " 
^'  Uere.  God  be  praised,  God  be  praised  ! "  ex- 
claimed George,  every  nerve  quivering  with  intense 

joy- 

''  On  your  life  be  silent.  Would  you  bring  the  whole 
pack  on  us?"  was  whispered,  in  the  same  cautious 
manner.  Even  as  the  well-known  tones  reached  his 
ears,  George  felt  the  fastenings  that  bound  liis  feet 
give  way.  "  Ilold  out  your  arms,"  continued  the  un- 
seen speaker,  and  immediately  the  withes,  that  had  cut 
deeply  into  his  flesh,  were  severed,  and  he  was  free. 

"  Heaven  bless  you.  Scout ! "  said  George,  fervently, 
imito^^ing  the  cautious  tones  of  the  old  man. 

"  No  thanks  now,  youngster.     Follow  me,  and  move 


308  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

warily:  the  scorpions  are  easily  aroused."  And,  prone 
on  the  ground,  the  old  man  twisted  himself,  with  a 
snake-like  motion,  out  of  the  lodge  and  in  the  direction 
of  the  river. 

"With  stiffened  limbs,  every  movement  of  which 
caused  intense  pain,  George  followed  close  on  the 
heels  of  his  leader,  until  they  reached  a  clump  of 
bushes  on  the  edge  of  the  forest,  in  front  of  which,  as 
if  standing  sentinel,  was  the  old  man's  dog. 

'^  I  must  leave  you  here,"  said  the  Scout. 

"  To  rescue  Ellen,  I  trust.  Scout,"  said  George. 

''  We  must  get  you  off  first,  boy.  If  it  was  n't  for 
that  pesky  wound  of  yours  we  'd  do  it  at  Once.  But 
don't  -worry  about  the  gal ;  t'  other  youngster  and  I 
will  see  about  her.  Brave  will  lead  you  to  the  spot 
where  I  will  meet  you.  Go,  pup."  Thus  sa^nng,  the 
Scout  rose  to  his  feet  and  glided  silently  into  the 
forest. 

As  the  hunter  disappeared,  the  noble  dog  commenced 
moving  slowly  along,  turning,  from  time  to  time,  his 
head,  as  if  to  ascertain  that  he  was  duly  followed. 
Finding  that  his  wound  would  not  permit  of  his  walk- 
ing, George  crept  along  as  he  best  could,  dragging  his 
maimed  limb  painfully  after  him.  Ilis  progress  was 
necessarily  slow,  and  his  admiration  was  not  a  little 
excited  at  the  sagacity  displayed  by  his  canine  com- 
panion, who  seemed  to  be  aware  of  the  difficulty  his 
follower  labored  under,  and  timed  his  pace  to  suit 
George's. 

The  stars  shone  brightly,  but  not  a  ray  of  light  pen- 
etrated the  covert  in  which  Henry  was  secreted. 
Worthly  waited,  with  no  little  anxiety,  the  return  of 
his  companion.    He  felt  no  fear,  but  there  was  a  wild 


THE   SETTLEUS.  oOO 

beating  in  his  heart  which  he  could  not  control.  IIo 
thought  of  Ellen  in  her  loneliness  and  gloom.  He 
pictured  her  sitting  bowed  with  grief  in  her  rude  wig- 
wam, and  he  yearned  to  make  his  presence  known  to 
her.  He  thought  what  a  solace  it  would  be  to  her 
could  she  but  know  that  friends  were  at  hand,  work- 
ing for  her  deliverance.  Buried  in  these  reveries,  an 
hour  or  more  passed  away. 

The  distant  cry  of  a  night-owl  broke  his  train  of 
thought.  The  ill-omened  sound,  so  in  keeping  with 
the  surrounding  gloom,  did  not  tend  to  dissipate  the 
depression  which  had  settled  upon  his  spirits.  It  was 
not  until  he  heard  the  cry  repeated  in  another  direc- 
tion that  he  remembered  that  it  was  the  signal  agreed 
upon  between  the  Scout  and  those  in  the  canoe. 
When  this  occurred  to  him,  the  sound  struck  him  as 
anything  but  one  of  ill  omen.  Henry  now  impatiently 
awaited  the  issue  of  events.  Intently  he  listened  to 
catch  the  returning  footsteps  of  the  Scout.  Minute 
after  minute  passed  slowly,  but  still  no  sound  met  his 
ear.  Half  an  hour  perhaps  rolled  by,  when  a  move- 
ment among  the  bushes  sent  a  sudden  thrill  to  his 
heart. 

"  Wal,  youngster,"  said  the  Scout,  thrusting  his  head 
into  the  opening, ''  most  tuckered  out  ?  I  've  seen  the 
gal's  brother.  He  was  most  cruelly  bound,  and  has 
got  an  ugly  w^ound  in  his  thigh.  But  I  cut  his  thongs, 
and  directed  him  how  to  proceed.  The  sly  dog  made 
them  think  he  was  worse  hurt  than  he  is ;  and  so,  fast- 
ening him  with  their  cursed  withes,  they  thought  they 
had  him  safe  enough,  and  did  not  guard  him  so  care- 
fully as  they  otherwise  would." 

^'  And  you  will  get  him  clear,  then  ?  "  asked  Henry. 


310  FOREST  AUD   SHORE. 

"Speak  softly,  boy.  You've  no  idee  how  sound 
travels  in  tlio  night.  If  nothing  turns  up,  wo  shall  get 
liim  out  of  their  clutches,  and  the  gal  too,  I  consate. 
But  come  with  me,  and  mind,  you  are  treading  among 
sleeping  adders,  which  the  slightest  noise  may  arouse." 

Stepping  out  from  his  hiding-place,  Worthly  fol- 
lowed in  the  lead  of  the  hunter.  Occasionally  the  old 
fellow  would  give  utterance  to  a  low  chuckle.  At  last 
lie  said,  in  his  usual  cautious  tone,  "  I  declare,  that  pup 
of  mine  knows  more  than  ary  human  crittur." 

"  Where  is  he,  Scout?"  asked  Henry. 

"  Guiding  the  youngster  down  to  the  canoe." 

"  Guiding  him  ? "  asked  Henry,  in  some  astonish- 
ment. 

"Yes;  and  enough  sight  surer  guide  than  I  should 
be.     I  'd  trust  that  dog's  nose  anywhere." 

"How  did  you  find  where  George  was?" 

"  'T  was  all  that  pup's  doings.  Says  I, '  Bravo,*  says 
I, '  lead  me  to  the  white  boy.'  At  that  ho  went  snuffing 
along,  until  the  crittur  stopped  before  one  of  the  tents 
and  began  Avagging  his  tail.  You  need  n't  tell  me 
that  such  dogs  ain't  reasonable  beings  :  I  know  bet- 
ter." After  this,  the  party  proceeded  in  silence  on 
their  way. 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  river's  bank,  at 
a  spot  j\ut  above  the  encampment.  Soon  after  their 
arrival.  Brave  made  his  appearance,  followed  by 
George,  who  was  lieartily  welcomed  by  the  Scout  and 
Henry.  Truly  thankful  was  George  when  he  reached 
the  stream,  and  many  were  the  congratulations  ex- 
changed between  the  young  men  at  the  success  which 
had  thus  far  attended  them,  while  equally  lively  were 
they  in  their  gratitude  to  the  Scout. 


^  THE  SETTLERS.  311 

"  Save  your  thanks,  save  your  thanks,  youngsters," 
said  the  old  man.  "  Wait  till  we  get  out  of  the  var- 
mints' clutches.  Remain  here  a  while,  and  do  not 
speak  above  your  breath,  while  I  go  and  find  the 
canoe."     And  tlio  Scout  went  up  the  stream. 

Just  below  one  of  the  falls  in  the  river,  hidden  be- 
neath the  overhanging  branches,  swung  a  canoe,  in 
which  were  seated  young  Eveleth  and  KStevcns. 

"  They  're  a  long  time  coming,"  remarked  the  latter. 

"  We  must  not  speak  too  loud,  Stevens,  idthough 
the  roar  of  the  rapids  serves  to  drown  our  voice  , 
Hark!  what  is  that?" 

There  was  a  disturbance  of  the  limbs  overhead,  fol- 
lowed by  the  low  tones  of  the  Scout.  "  Drop  your 
canoe  down  to  where  the  banks  are  sloping,  lads. 
Move  cautiously,  and  keep  snug  in  shore." 

The  directions  were  obeyed ;  and  in  a  few  minutes, 
with  the  assistance  of  Henry  and  the  hunter,  George 
was  placed  in  the  canoe  and  arranged  as  comfortably 
as  the  circumstances  would  permit. 

"  Now,  youngsters,"  said  the  Scout,  giving  them  a 
parting  word  of  caution,  "all  depends  on  yourselves. 
Move  warily.  I  see  the  mist  is  rising;  keep  in  that  as 
much  as  you  can.  The  moon  will  be  up  soon,  and 
some  of  the  varmints  may  be  abroad.  Keep  your 
eyes  and  ears  open,  and  your  mouths  shut,  and  by 
daybreak  I  trust  you  will  be  safe  in  the  block-house." 

"And  tell  your  mother,  George,"  said  Henry, as  the 
canoe  floated  from  the  bank,  "  that  Ellen  will  not  be 
long  in  following  you,  I  trust."  And,  bidding  the 
voyagers  a  whispered  good-night,  the  Scout  and  his 
companion,  followed  by  Brave,  turned  and  plunged 
into  the  forest. 


312  FOKEST  AND   SHORE. 


CHAPTER    YIII. 

The  light  bark  sliot  rapidly  and  noiselessly  down 
the  stream.  The  mist  soon  began  to  grow  more  dense, 
into  the  thickest  of  w^hich  the  canoe  was  guided.  For 
some  time  they  continued  their  voyage  without  meet- 
ing with  anything  to  excite  their  alarm,  and  their 
hearts  were  cheered  in  anticipation  of  the  successful 
issue  of  their  expedition.  The  most  profound  silence 
was  observed  by  the  party,  and  their  paddles  were 
handled  so  carefully  that  only  the  light  dripping  of 
water  from  the  blades  could  be  heard  as  they  raised 
them  from  the  stream. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  moon  arose,  and,  although 
her  light  aided  to  guide  them  on  their  way,  they  w^ould 
very  gladly  have  dispensed  w^ith  it,  for  they  felt  that 
they  were  more  secure  in  the  darkness.  If  the  mist 
had  continued  unbroken  the  entire  length  of  the  river, 
they  would  not  have  regretted  the  presence  of  the 
"  queen  of  night,"  for  the  vapor  hung  low,  shrouding 
them  completely  from  view ;  but  there  were  certain 
portions  of  the  stream,  broad  patches  here  and  there, 
on  which  the  moonbeams  fell  uno-bstructed.  In  cross- 
ing these  they  were  completely  exposed;  still,  by  hug- 
ging the  shore,  they  could  sometimes  take  advantage 
of  the  deep  shadows  of  the  trees  and  shrubbery  that 
lined  the  banks,  and  so  escape  from  observation. 

They  were  crossing  one  of  these  openings,  which 
occurred  at  a  bend  of  the  river,  where  a  point  of  land 
run  out,  leaving  the  water  so  shallow  that  they  were 
forced  to  edge  off  into  the  channel,  when  the  dip  of 
paddles  was  heard  on  the  opposite  side,  and  in  a  few 


THE  SETTLERS.  313 

moments  a  canoe,  containing  three  savages,  bound  up 
stream,  shot  out  of  the  mist  into  the  open  space. 

"  Down,  both  of  you  I  "  whispered  George  ;  "  they 
may  pass  without  discovering  us.'' 

The  young  men  crouched  immediately  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  canoe,  which  floated  silently  and  apparently 
deserted  on  the  water. 

For  a  time  they  hoped  to  escape  without  being  per- 
ceived, but  presently  a  low,  guttural  "  Ugh !  "  came 
across  the  stream,  and  the  direction  of  the  strange 
canoe  was  seen  to  change,  her  prow  heading  toward 
them.  For  a  minute  or  two  the  savages  rested  on 
their  paddles,  as  if  scrutinizing  the  newly  discovered 
object,  during  which  the  young  men  could  hear  them 
holding  a  murmured  consultation,  and  see  their  signifi- 
cant gestures.  They  were  evidently  at  fault,  and  sus- 
picious that  the  seemingly  lone  bark  might  not  prove 
a  harmless  prize.  George  watched  their  movements 
with  the  most  intense  anxiety.  For  a  while  the  two 
canoes  remained  equi-distant,  but  presently  it  struck 
him  that  the  space  between  them  was  diminishing. 

"  By  Reavens,  they  are  stealing  slowly  upon  us  ! " 
said  George.  "Up,  boys,  and  strike  out  for  your 
lives ! " 

The  young  men  sprang  to  their  feet  and  plied  their 
paddles  with  desperate  energy.  A  loud  whoop  from 
the  savages  rang  over  the  water,  followed  by  the 
report  of  a  gun,  and  a  ball  whistled  directly  over  the 
head  of  Eveleth. 

"  A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile,"  said  George,  cheer- 

ingly.     "  Plunge  into  the  mist  as  soon  as  possible ;  we 

have  got  a  good  start  of  them.     This  infernal  wound 

of  mine,"  he  continued,  in  an  excited  tone,  ^'  gives 

27 


oU  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

them  the  advantage  over  us,  but  we  may  succeed  in 
eluding  them.     Bend  to  it,  with  a  will." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  canoe  containing  our  young 
party  ishot  int^  the  mist  and  was  lost  to  sight.  With 
the  rapidity  of  a  swallow  skimming  the  surface  of  the 
stream,  the  pursuing  bark  dashed  on,  the  wily  savages 
glightly  changing  its  direction  so  as  to  intercept  the 
fugitives  at  a  certain  angle.  The  young  men,  how- 
ever, were  as  crafty  as  their  pursuers,  for  as  soon  as 
they  had  got  well  into  the  mist,  they,  too,  changed  the 
direction  of  their  flight,  and  made  a  straight  wake  for 
the  opposite  bank.  Fortunately  for  the  success  of 
this  manoeuvre,  the  moon  just  then  was  obscured  by  a 
passing  cloud,  and  the  vapor,  being  unusually  dense, 
served  effectually  to  screen  them  from  observation. 

"  There  they  go  ! "  said  George,  in  a  whisper,  as  the 
quick  strokes  of  paddles  were  heard  crossing  their 
track  astefn.  "  Dip  softly  but  strongly,  and  we  may 
give  them  the  slip,  after  all.  Would  that  I  could  aid 
you.  I  can  pull  a  trigger,  though,  if  I  cannot  handle 
a  paddle;"  and  he  raised  a  weapon  to  a  position  for 
instant  use. 

To  enable  the  reader  to  understand  the  position  of 
the  young  men,  we  must  explain  a  little.  Just  below 
the  point  we  have  mentioned  as  making  out  into  the 
river,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so,  there  is  a  fall,  or  a 
series  of  falls.  Perhaps  the  term  "  rapids  "  would  be 
the  most  correct,  as  the  flill  of  the  stream  is  gradual, 
the  angle  of  descent  being  about  twenty  degrees. 
Near  the  centre  of  the  rapids  there  is  a  passage,  both 
diJBficult  and  dangerous,  even  to  those  acquainted  with 
its  navigation.  From  the  first  dip  the  current  runs 
some  rods  in  glassy  smoothness,  until  its  bed  becomes 


THE   SETTLERS.  315 

broken,  when  it  rushes  in  boiling  whirlpools,  seething 
and  foaming  over  sharp  rocks,  darting  rapidly  through 
narrow  passages,  whirling  and  tossing  about  in  the 
wildest  tumult,  and  threatening  instant  destruction  to 
whatever  should  attempt  the  passage,  especially  so 
frail  a  thing  as  a  birchen  canoe.  Still,  a  dexterous 
hand  could  carry  one  through  in  safety,  and,  fortu- 
nately for  our  party,  George  was  well  acquainted  with 
the  intricacies  of  the  passage. 

There  is  near  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river  a  com- 
paratively smooth  and  easy  channel,  which  offers  no 
serious  impediment.  In  ascending  the  river,  the  rap- 
ids are  avoided  by  a  narrow  portage. 

"With  this  brief  description,  the  reader  will  perceive 
the  position  of  our  party.  In  doubling  on  their  pur- 
suers, they  had  crossed  to  the  western  bank  of  the 
stream,  where  no  channel  existed,  and  from  the  nature 
of  the  ground  where  no  transit  could  be  found  to  the 
still  water  below  the  rapids. 

For  a  while  the  young  men  remained  stationary,  lis- 
tening eagerly  to  catch  any  sound  indicating  the  pres^ 
ence  of  the  foe,  but  all  remained  quiet. 

"  We  had  better  have  kept  on,''  said  Stevens,  in  a 
low  tone,  "  and  run  down  the  eastern  passage." 

"  No,"  replied  Eveleth,  "  we  should  have  been  over- 
hauled before  we  reached  it,  or,  if  we  had  got  into  the 
channel,  they  would  have  followed  us." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  see  that  we  are  any  better  off, 
cooped  up  in  this  bight." 

"  There  is  the  central  passage,"  rejoined  Eveleth ; 
"  worst  come  to  worst,  George  can  take  us  through 
that." 

"  It  will  be  risky  business,  as  the  old  Scout  says, 


316  FOREST   AXD   SHORE. 

especially  in  the  niglit,"  said  George.  "  But  we  may 
be  forced  to  make  the  attempt,  and,  in  anticipation  of 
such  an  event,  you  had  better  prop  me  up  so  that  I 
can  guide  the  canoe." 

This  was  done;  and,  after  waiting  some  time  with- 
out hearing  or  seeing  anything  of  the  enemy,  they 
commenced-  slowly  crossing  the  river,  keeping  just  in 
the  edge  of  the  rapids.  They  had  got  about  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream,  when  a  slight  passing  breeze 
dispersed  the  mist,  and  left  them  fully  exposed  to 
view  in  a  broad  patch  of  moonlight.  To  their  con- 
Bternation,  there  appeared,  some  few  rods  up  the  river, 
the  other  canoe,  evidently  in  search  of  them.  Again 
a  defiant  war-whoop  broke  upon  the  stillness  of  night, 
as  the  party  of  savages  dashed  in  pursuit. 

"There  is  no  help  for  it  now,  Eveleth, — push  for  the 
fapids ! "  shouted  George,  seizing  a  paddle  to  guide 
«"he  boat. 

They  were  soon  in  the  quick  current,  where  the 
guiding  paddle  was  only  required.  The  savages 
were  evidently  acquainted  with  the  passage,  for 
they  did  not  hesitate  to  follow  in  the  track  of  the 
fugitives. 

"Are  they  following  us?"  asked  George,  whose 
whole  attention  was  devoted  to  the  management  of 
the  canoe,  which  began  to  be  tossed  upon  the  troubled 
waters. 

"  Yes,  yes,  close  in  our  wake  !  "  was  the  simultane- 
ous reply  of  his  companions. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  exclaimed  George.  "  See  to 
your  rifles,  boys;  we  must  give  that  helmsman  a  dose. 
Wait  a  moment  until  they  get  into  the  most  dangerous 
navig^ation,  and  aim  only  at  the  one  who  steers.     If 


THE   SETTLERS.  317. 

you  can  bring  him  down  at  the  proper  moment,  we 
shall  be  saved." 

The  young  men  grasped  their  pieces  ready  for  in- 
stant action.  The  surges  were  breaking  furiously 
around  and  under  the  frail  vessel,  while  the  white 
foam  creamed  over  her  sides  in  thick  masses,  threat- 
ening to  swamp  her.  At  one  moment  she  rushed 
forward  with  the  speed  of  a  race-horse,  the  next  she 
was  tossed  amid  the  struggling  billows  like  an  egg- 
shell. At  times  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  be  dashed 
on  some  point  of  craggy  rock  and  swept  to  destruc- 
tion, but  almost  as  soon  as  the  danger  was  seen  it 
was  passed.  It  required  a  steady  hand  and  a  cool, 
calculating  head  to  guide  a  bark  through  that  "  hell 
of  waters ; "  and  fortunate  for  the  fugitives  was  it 
that  young  Millet  was  equal  to  the  task.  He  knew 
that  it  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  and  that  all 
depended  on  his.  skilh  He  forgot  his  wound;  his 
quick  eye  took  in  all  things  at  once,  and  his  ready 
hand  held  the  quivering  vessel  in  subjection  to  his 
will. 

"  Now,  my  good  fellows,"  said  George,  in  a  calm, 
determined  tone,  "  we  shall  presently  be  a  little  more 
quiet  for  a  moment,  and  they  are  about  entering  upon 
the  most  dangerous  part  of  the  rapids." 

The  young  men  sprang  to  their  feet. 

"  Steady,  steady,  or  you  will  capsize  us.  Brace 
yourselves  firmly,  and  don't  waste  your  shot.  Let 
them  have  itl" 

The  young  men  had  taken  deliberate  aim,  and,  at 
the  word,  a  flash  and  a  report  followed.  Instantly 
and  shrilly  above  tlie  roar  of  the  rapids  a  death-cry 
rang  out  upon  the  air.    The  shot  of  one  of  the  young 


318  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

men  took  effect  in  the  breast  of  the  helmsman,  wbo, 
throwing  his  arms  wildly  in  the  air,  gave  one  fear- 
fully agonizing  cry,  and  toppled  over  into  the  raging 
waters. 

Left  to  her  own  guidance,  the  frail  canoe  was  borne 
through  a  narrow  channel,  and,  before  the  other  In- 
dian, who  sprang  to  execute  the  task,  could  obtain 
the  mastery  of  her,  was  dashed  against  a  point  of 
jagged  rocks,  against  and  over  which  the  mad  waters 
beat  in  clouds  of  foam.  It  was  but  an  instant,  and 
the  birchen  vessel  was  crushed  like  a  shell,  —  torn  in 
shreds,  —  and  the  two  savages  were  hurled  by  the 
force  of  the  current  against  the  sharp  ledges,  and 
whirled  helpless  in  the  foaming  eddies,  their  mangled 
bodies  catching  now  on  some  slippery  projecting  rock, 
and  now  jammed  tightly  in  some  narrow  crevice, 
while  the  laughing  billows  leaped  around  them,  as  if 
exulting  over  their  prey. 

With  a  triumphant  shout  the  young  men  shot  safely 
on  their  way,  and  were  soon  gliding  once  more  over 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  stream.  Nothing  further 
transpired  to  interrupt  their  passage,  and  soon  after 
daybreak  the  canoe  touched  the  landing-place.  The 
walk  thence  to  the  block-house  was  one  of  great  diffi- 
culty and  pain  to  George,  but,  supported  by  his  com- 
panions, they  reached  the  gates  soon  after  sunrise. 
We  need  not  dwell  on  the  enthusiastic  reception  they 
received,  nor  on  the  joy  their  presence  inspired. 

Annie  did  not  meet  George  at  his  entrance.  It  was 
not  until  he  was  alone  in  his  mother's  room  that  the 
interview  took  place.  Hastily  entering  and  rushing* 
towards  him,  she  flung  herself  on  his  bosom,  weeping 
convulsively. 


THE    SETTLERS.  319 

^'  Dear  George  !  ^^ 

"  Dear  Annie  !  " 

There  was  a  world  of  meaning  in  the  tone  and 
manner  of  utterance  of  that  brief  salutation,  which 
expressed  more  than  we  could  crowd  into  a  volume. 

Leaving  George  in  the  care  of  his  cousin,  who,  it 
may  be  presumed,  proved  a  tender  and  devoted  nurse, 
let  us  turn  our  attention  to  Ellen,  and  those  who  were 
seeking  her  rescue. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"  I  NEVER  knew  the  varmints  to  be  so  unguarded," 
said  the  Scout,  in  a  subdued  tone,  as  he  and  Henry 
left  the  bank  of  the  river.  "  They  thought  the  young- 
ster was  hurt  worse  than  he  proves  to  be,  and  they 
reckoned  they  had  him  safe  enough,  I  warrant  you. 
How  it  will  ruck  them  when  they  find  that  their 
intended  victim  has  escaped  their  infarnal  tortures  ! " 
and  the  old  fellow  chuckled  as  if  he  enjoyed  the  dis- 
appointment that  awaited* the  Indians. 

^'  But  what  do  you  propose  to  do  for  Ellen? "  asked 
Henry. 

"  Wal,  I  Ve  been  turning  the  matter  over  in  my 
mind.  I  see  the  moon  is  'bout  rising,  and  it  will  be 
risky  business.  I  'm  not  sure  but  that  it  will  be  best 
to  take  another  night  for  it." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  think  of  that!"  hastily 
repHed  Worthly,  who  shuddered  at  the  idea  that  they 
might  wreak  their  vengeance  on  her  when  they  had 
ascertained  the  escape  of  George. 


320  FOREST  AND  «HORE. 

^'  Whist,  whist,  youngster  !  not  too  loud  !  Your 
feelings  are  nat'ral,  young  man,"  rejoined  the  Scout, 
who  conjectured  the  fears  of  his  companion,  '^  but  I 
know  the  nater  of  the  red-skins  better  than  you  do. 
They  will  not  touch  a  hair  of  her  head.  Howsomever, 
I  will  see  what  can  be  done.  You  wait  here,  and  I 
will  go  and  look  round*a  little.  Come,  Brave,  let  us 
look  for  the  gal !  "  and,  after  a  few  directions  to  Henry, 
he  glided  off  in  the  direction  of  the  encampment. 

He  had  not  been  absent  but  a  short  time  when  he 
returned,  and,  in  somewhat  hurried  tones,  said :  "  The 
dogs  are  astir,  and  the  pack  will  open  on  us  directly. 
Come  this  way,  a  little  more  into  the  woods  ;  we  '11 
watch  the  varmints ; "  and  he  led  off  at  a  rapid  pace 
into  the  forest. 

They  had  proceeded  but  a  few  steps  when  an  infu- 
riated yell  burst  upon  the  night  air,  as  if  a  herd  of 
demons  had  broken  loose.  A  low  laugh  burst  from 
the  Scout,  as  yell  after  yell  rang  through  the  forest. 
"  That 's  just  like  them  critturs,"  said  he ;  "  when 
they  ^re  riled,  the  only  way  they  can  spit  out  their 
spite  is  to  set  up  an  infarnal  howling,  just  like  a  pack 
of  painters  or  wolves." 

Just  then  momentary  gleams  flashed  through  the 
woods,  as  of  torches  borne  hurriedly  to  and  fro. 

"  Ha,  ha  1  they  '11  find  him,  I  consate  I  It  was  a 
lucky  sarcumstance  we  got  him  off  as  we  did.  If  the 
boys  hain't  been  interrupted,  he 's  safe  out  of  their 
clutches  by  this  time." 

"  But  will  not  this  discovery  operate  against  us  ?  " 
asked  Henry,  w^ho  saw  in  it  a  destruction  of  all  hope 
of  rescuing  Ellen,  for  the  present  at  least. 

"  I  'm  not  eartain  about  that,"  replied  the  old  man. 


THE   SETTLERS.  321 

"  By  what  I  obsarved,  all  the  party  were  not  in  camp, 
—  off  working  mischief  somewhere  else,  I  s'pose,  the 
infarnal  hounds  !  You  '11  obsarve,  by  the  clustering 
of  torches,  they  have  diskivered  something,  probably 
the  trail  to  the  river." 

"  Well,- '  said  Henry,  as  the  old  man  paused  and 
gazed  in  the  direction  of  the  lights. 

"  Wal,  it  is  reasonable  to  calculate,  don't  you  see, 
that  some  on  'em  will  start  in  pursuit,  and  much  good 
may  it  do  'em !  That,  in  course,  will  leave  so  many 
the  less  to  contend  with." 

"  But  will  not  those  who  remain  keep  a  stricter 
watch  ?  "  asked  Henry. 

"  Undoubtedly,  youngster,  but  we  must  throw  wool 
over  their  eyes.  We  must  contrive  some  plan  to 
draw  off  their  attention,  and  then  seize  upon  the 
moment  to  get  the  gal  off.  Let  me  consider  a  mo- 
ment;" and  the  old  man  mused  a  while,  buried  in 
thought. 

^' Yes, that  may  do,"  he  muttered  to  himself;  "'twill 
be  purty  risky  business,  though;"  then,  addressing  his 
companion,  he  continued :  "  My  mind  is  this.  There 's 
a  cluster  of  lodges  near  the  river  which  ai^  empty, 
save  one,  which  contains  their  stores  and  skins.  Now 
if  we  could  set  fire  to  one  of  these,  the  w^hole  would 
soon  be  in  a  blaze.  Nat'rally  they  would  all  rush  to 
save  their  property ;  then  would  be  your  chance  to 
rescue  the  gal.  But,  boy,  it 's  a  bold  trick,  and  there 's 
some  risk  in  it.  If  we  did  not  succeed,  the  gal's 
life  might  be  jeopardized.  The  malignant  devils  might 
brain  her  in  their  rage.  Dare  you  attempt  it,  young- 
ster ?  " 

Henry  was  silent  for  some  moments.     The  prob- 


322  FOREST   A^•D   SHORE. 

ably  fatal  consequences  attending  a  failure  pressed 
heavily  upon  his  mind,  and  he  knew  not  how  to 
decide. 

"  Dare  you  attempt  it  ?  "  again  asked  the  Scout. 

Fearful  of  assuming  a  responsibility  pregnant  with 
the  life  or  death  of  one  so  dear  to  him,  the  young 
man  replied  :  "  I  cannot  decide  ;  I  know  not  what  to 
say,  Scout.  I  leave  the  whole  matter  to  you.  You 
know  what  is  best,  what  risks  we  shall  run,  and  what 
are  our  chances  of  success." 

"  Wal,  then,"  rejoined  the  Scout,  "  if  you  leave  it 
to  me,  1  decide  to  follow  the  plan  I  mentioned.  I 
acknowledge  there  is  danger,  but  there  can't  be 
many  of  the  varmints  left,  and,  worst  come  to  worst, 
we  can  fight  it  out  with  the  reptyles.  Should  it 
come  to  that,  they  will  not  show  a  fair  stand-up 
fight,  but  skulk.  Then,  you  see,  Brave  and  I  can 
keep  them  at  bay,  while  you  and  the  gal  can  escape." 

"  But  there  is  your  own  risk.  Scout,"  said  Henry. 

"  That,  young  man,  I  don't  count  much  on.  I  Ve 
lived  through  worse  skrimmages  than  this  is  likely  to 
be.  I  consate  that  the  ball  that  is  to  reach  my  life 
is  not  moulded  yet.  But,  if  I  do  fall,  what  matters  a 
year  or  two  off  a  lonely  old  man's  life,  who  has  got 
not  a  kin  in  the  world  to  mourn  his  death?  But  I 
can't  go  before  the  good  God  calls  me.  There  are  so 
many  grains  of  sand  put  in  each  man's  glass,  young- 
ster, and  that  sand  must  run  out  in  its  nat'ral  course  ; 
you  can't  hurry  the  grains,  you  can't  check  them. 
Man  has  his  allotted  time,  and  all  the  bloody  red-skins 
on  airth  can't  cheat  him  out  of  a  single  second.  If  I 
am  to  fall,  I  am  to  fall.    That 's  the  doctrine  we  preach, 


THE   SETTLERS.  323 

down  to  the  Sabba'-day  Pond  meetings.  So  don't  be 
consarned  about  me,  youngster." 

While  the  okl  man  was  thus  unfolding  his  creed, 
they  had  been  making  a  circuit  of  the  woods,  so  as  to 
obtain  a  position  in  the  rear  of  the  encampment.  Their 
progress  had  been  slow,  and  by  the  time  they  arrived 
there  the  hubbub  in  camp  had  subsided,  and  quiet  once 
more  reigned  in  the  place. 

^'  Now,"  said  the  Scout,  "  I  will  go  and  see  if  the 
snakes  have  crawled  into  their  holes.  It 's  my  idee 
that  the  young  woman's  lodge  is  the  farthest  one  back, 
near  the  edge  of  the  forest.  If  so  be  it  is,  it  will  be 
all  the  better.  Brave  will  point  it  out  to  me.  Come, 
pup."  And  the  old  man  and  his  dog  moved  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  encampment. 

The  young  man,  thus  left  alone  in  the  forest,  felt  ill 
at  ease.  It  was  natural,  now  that  the  crisis  of  his  ad- 
venture was  approaching,  that  he  should  be  somewhat 
excited.  The  emotions  that  agitated  him  were  various 
and  opposite  in  their  characters.  Hope  struggled  with 
fear.  The  thought  of  speedily  releasing  Ellen  from 
her  bondage  thrilled  him  with  joy.  Then  came  appre- 
hensions of  the  difficulties  that  surrounded  him,  of  the 
probably  fatal  consequences  that  would  follow  a  failure 
of  their  plans,  shadowing  his  joy  and  filling  his  heart 
with  despondency.  Dark  forebodings  stole  over  his 
mind,  and  his  excited  imagination  pictured  the  captive 
a  victim  to  his  rashness ;  and  he  half-regretted  that 
he  had  not  postponed  the  attempt  until  a  more  favor- 
able opportunity.  But  would  a  more  favorable  one 
be  presented?  Would  not  the  attempted  rescue  be 
at  all  times  fraught  with  danger?  Revolving  the 
subject  in  his  mind,  Henry  concluded  that  it  was  no 


324  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

time  to  falter  now,  and  he  nerved  himself  for  the  task 
before  him.  In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  he  was  re- 
joined by  the  Scout. 

"  The  reptyles  have  crept  into  their  dens/'  said  he  ; 
^'  but  't  ain't  likely  they  have  gone  to  sleep.  I  've 
ascertained  the  lodge  where  your  sweetheart  is,  but  I 
did  n't  venture  to  go  near  it.  Come  this  way  (tread 
softly,  for  they  have  sharp  ears !)  and  I  will  point  it 
out  to  you.  The  moon  is  getting  up,  which  will  be 
of  some  sarvice,  although  for  such  a  job  as  this  dark- 
ness would  be  best." 

The  moon,  however,  had  not  risen  above  the  tree- 
tops,  and  it  afforded  just  light  enough  to  allow  them 
to  distinguish  the  situation  of  the  lodges  when  they 
had  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  forest.  The  Scout  then 
pointed  out  the  wigwam  which  Ellen  occupied,  and 
gave  directions  to  Henry  how  to  proceed. 

"  You  will  keep  your  station  here,  and  Brave  will 
remain  with  you  —  (do  you  hear,  pup?)  —  while  I  go 
and  fire  the  lodges.  When  the  flames  burst  out  and 
the  varmints  rush  towards  them,  then  is  your  chance. 
Keep  in  the  rear  of  the  lodge,  in  the  shade,  and  cut 
your  way  through  and  release  the  gal.  Mind  and  have 
your  thoughts  about  you,  youngster.  Don't  be  rash, 
don't  be  excited :  one  can't  be  too  cool  on  such  occa- 
sions as  this.     A  false  move  might  ruin  us  all." 

"  But  where  will  you  join  me  ? "  asked  Henry,  in 
the  same  cautious  tone  employed  by  the  Scout. 

"  That  depends  on  sarcumstances.  I  may  have  to 
show  myself  to  draw  off  pursuit.  At  any  rate,  you 
will  plunge  into  the  woods,  keeping  the  moon  over 
your  right  shoulder,  —  over  your  right  shoulder,  re- 
member that,  boy.     If  I  lose  your  trail,  Brave  will 


THE   SETTLERS.  S25 

bring  ns  together,  witliout  doubt.  Be  wary  and 
collected,  and,  when  tbe  rush  happens,  malvc  quick 
work  of  it/'  Saying  thus,  the  old  man  crept  silently 
off  to  the  left  in  the  skirts  of  the  woods. 

Henry  stood  by  a  little  thicket  somewhat  in  advance 
of  the  heavy  timber,  and  but  a  few  rods  before  him, 
dimly  discerned,  rose  the  lodge  in  which  Ellen  was 
confined.  He  had  left  his  rifl«  leaning  against  a  tree, 
but  he  held  in  his  hand  a  large  hunting-knife,  ready  for 
instant  use.  The  moment  was  one  of  thrilling  interest, 
and,  as  he  stood  there,  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  cluster  of 
wigwams,  scarcely  perceptible,  by  the  river's  side, 
waiting  for  the  signal,  every  nerve  seemed  strung  to 
its  utmost  tension.  There  was  no  quivering  of  the 
muscles,  no  trembling  of  the  hmbs.  He  was  calm,  al- 
most preternaturally  calm. 

Beside  him  stood  the  faithful  Brave.  At  times  the 
eagacious  animal  would  seem  to  be  gazing  steadfastly 
on  the  lodge  ;  then,  raising  his  head  toward  Henry,  he 
would  wag  his  tail,  as  if  to  assure  him  that  he  was 
•aware  of  all  that  was  going  on.  At  one  time  he  gave 
a  just  audible  growl,  and,  with  bristling  hair,  he 
crouched  in  a  springing  attitude.  At  that  moment 
Henry  perceived  the  dusky  form  of  a  savage  lurking 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Ellen's  lodge.  He  saw  him 
but  for  an  instant,  ere  he  disappeared  behind  one  of 
the  tents.  The  dog  crept  slowly  forward  a  few  steps, 
and,  after  snuffing  the  air  a  while,  returned  to  the 
young  man's  side,  as  if  satisfied  that  no  danger  was 
to  be  apprehended.  It  was  very  evident  that  the 
savage  had  been  prying  around  to  see  that  all  was 
quiet,  and,  finding  nothing  to  excite  suspicion,  had 
retired. 

28 


326  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

Some  considerable  time  elapsed,  and  Henry  waited 
anxiously,  wondering  at  the  delay  of  the  Scout.  Like 
all  impatient  waiters,  when  some  important  crisis  is 
impending,  the  moments  dragged  slowly  by.  At  last 
he  thought  he  detected  a  small  point  of  light,  a  mere 
spark.  He  strained  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
lodges.  It  disappeared,  then  it  shone  out  more  dis- 
tinctly, and  presently  be  observed  tiny  tongues  of 
flame  flickering  out  of  the  side  of  one  of  the  central 
lodges.  In  a  few  moments  a  slight  explosion  was 
heard,  and  the  birchen  side  of  the  lodge  was  rent 
apart,  while  from  the  curling  bark  a  vast  volume  of 
flame  spread  out  in  every  direction ;  at  the  same  in- 
stant a  rush  of  feet  was  heard,  and  a  terrible  yell  rose 
on  the  air. 

With  a  beating  heart,  Worthly  dashed  forward  at 
the  sound.  It  was  but  the  w^ork  of  a  moment  to  cut 
a  passage  through  the  frail  material  of  which  the 
lodge  was  composed.  As  he  forced  his  way  through 
the  opening,  a  shriek  of  terror  burst  from  the  captive. 

"  Ellen,  dear  Ellen,  be  not  alarmed.  I  have  come  to 
save  you.     Quick  —  follow  me." 

"Henry,  Henry,  can  it  be  you?"  exclaimed  the 
trembling  girh     "I  cannot  move;  I  am  bound." 

Springing  to  her  side)  Worthly  cut  the  thongs  that 
confined  her  feet  and  arms,  and,  raising  her  to  her 
feet,  he  bore  her  through  the  entrance  he  had  made. 
The  whole  air  was  now  illuminated  wdth  the  blazing 
lodges,  and  the  infuriated  cries  of  the  savages  rang 
through  the  encampment.  Scarcely  glancing  at  the 
conflagration,  Henry  darted  towards  the  forest.  At 
this  moment  an  athletic  young  savage  sprang  from 
behind  a  neighboring  wigwam,  brandishing  the  deadly 


THE   SETTLERS.  327 

tomahawk,  directly  in  tlie  path  of  the  fugitives. 
Henry  did  not  perceive  that  he  was  pursued,  and  in 
another  moment  the  fatal  weapon  would  have  been 
buried  in  his  head.  But  there  was  a  deliverer  at 
hand. 

The  first  notice  the  young  man  had  of  the  threat- 
ened danger  was  a  deep  growl  from  Brave,  and,  has- 
tily turning  his  head,  he  saw  the  powerful  animal  leap 
panther-like  from  the  ground  and  seize  the  Indian  by 
the  throat;  a  second  glance  revealed  to  him  the  dog 
and  savage  struggling  furiously  on  the  earth.  His 
first  impulse  was  to  go  to  the  assistance  of  his  faithful 
ally,  but  a  thought  of  the  momentous  interest  he  had 
at  stake  restrained  him,  and  without  checking  his 
speed  he  kept  on,  and  in  a  few  moments  reached  the 
forest  and  was  in  possession  of  his  rifle.  Without 
pausing  a  moment,  he  hurried  his  companion  into  the 
depths  of  the  woods,  stopping  not  until  the  light  from 
the  burning  camp  was  lost  to  sight.  He  then  selected 
a  dense  thicket,  in  the  centre  of  which  he  found  a 
slight  opening,  into  which  he  made  his  way  with  his 
companion,  and  made  a  brief  halt,  to  enable  the 
affrighted  girl  in  some  degree  to  recover  herself.  "  I 
can  keep  on  still  farther,"  said  the  panting  girl.  "  Let 
us  not  wait  here  ;  they  will  pursue  us." 

"  We  will  stop  but  a  moment  for  you  to  recover 
breath,  Ellen.  They  will  not  follow  us  at  present,  I 
think.  Thank  God,  we  have  succeeded  thus  far  so 
well" 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  indeed  owe  Him  our  thanks.  But 
0,  Henry,  what  will  become  of  poor  George  ?  They 
will  surely  murder  him." 

"  He  is  safe  out  of  their  hands  by  this  time,  I  trust, 


62^  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

my  dear  girl;  "  and  in  a  hasty  manner  he  informed  her 
of  his  rescue,  and  of  the  means  they  had  taken  to 
effect  her  escape. 

While  they  were  thus  conversing,  they  were 
startled  by  a  rustling  among  the  bushes  in  Avhich 
they  had  sought  refuge,  as  if  some  one  were  forcing 
an  entrance.  Springing  from  the  little  mound  on 
which  he  had  been  sitting,  the  young  man  stood 
with  levelled  rifle-,  prepared  to  receive  the  intruder. 
A  low,  joyful  bark  caused  him  to  lower  it  on  the  in- 
stant. 

^^It  is  the  noble  Brave,"  said  he;  and  the  faithful  ani- 
mal broke  into  the  enclosure,  and,  bounding  to  Ellen's 
side,  placed  his  head  on  her  lap,  seemingly  testifying  by 
mute  signs  his  joy  at  her  escape.  Henry  and  his  com- 
panion caressed  the  noble  animal,  to  whose  services 
they  probably  owed  their  lives,  rejoicing  heartily  at 
his  escape  from  the  struggle  with  the  savage. 

In  that  struggle,  however,  the  dog  had  not  run 
much  risk.  When  he  sprang  tipon  the  savage,  he 
seized  him  in  his  huge  jaws  directly  by  the  throat,  and 
brought  him  at  once  to  the  ground.  The  Indian  was 
entirely  powerless  in  his  grasp,  and  in  a  short  time 
was  completely  throttled.  Not  until  his  victim  had 
ceased  to  struggle  did  the  dog  quit  his  hold,  when, 
being  apparently  satisfied  that  he  was  dead,  he  shook 
himself,  and  running  awhile  to  and  fro  until  he  caught 
the  scent  of  the  fugitives,  he  bounded  rapidly  into  the 
forest  on  their  track. 


THE   SETTLEriS. 


CHAPTER    X 


"  Had  wo  not  better  continue  on,  Henry  ?  "  said 
Ellen;  "  I  feel  quite  rested.  Everj^ moment  we  remain 
in  the  neighborhood  is  full  of  danger.'^ 

'^I  think  we  had,"  replied  her  companion,  ^^and 
Brave  seems  to  be  of  the  same  opinion.  See,  he 
stands  ready  to  lead  the  way." 

Cautiously  the  party  made  their  way  out  of  the 
thicket.  Ascertaining  the  position  of  the  moon, 
glimpses  of  which  could  now  be  caught  through  the 
trees,  Henry  followed  the  direction  of  the  Scout  by 
getting  it  over  his  right  shoulder,  and  then  with  his 
companion  moved  rapidly  forward. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  when  the  report  of  a 
gun  came  faintly  echoing  through  the  forest  from 
their  rear,  followed  shortly  after  by  a  second. 

'^  The  Scout  is  engaged  with  them,"  said  Henry. 
'^  Pray  Heaven  no  harm  may  befall  him,  for  without 
his  aid  I  fear  it  will  be  difficult  to  find  our  way." 

When  the  reports  were  heard.  Brave  gave  evident 
signs  of  uneasiness,  turning  his  head  in  the  direction 
whence  they  came,  and  whining  repeatedly. 

"  The  dog  knows  that  his  master  is  in  danger,"  said 
Ellen,  "  and  evidently  wishes  to  seek  him." 

"  Yes,  and  I  think  he  had  better  go,"  rejoined  her 
companion ;  "  he  will  be  of  more  use  to  him  than  to 
us.     Go,  Brave,  and  seek  your  master." 

The  dog  jumped  joyfully  in  the  air,  and  then  with 
the  speed- of  a  deer  dashed  toward  the  Indian  camp, 
while  Henry  and  his  companion  continued  their  toil- 
some journey. 

28* 


330  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

As  the  young  couple,  doubtless,  will  have  no  objec- 
tion to  being  left  by  themselves,  we  will  leave  them  to 
proceed  on  their  way,  and  go  back  and  see  how  it 
fares  with  the  Scout. 

When  he  left  Henry  to  fire  the  lodges,  he  crept 
along  the  edge  of  the  forest  until  he  was  near  the 
river.  To  accomphsh  his  object  required  the  utmost 
wariness,  for  every  step  w^as  'encompassed  with  danger. 
Leaving  his  gun  in  the  woods,  the  old  man  crept 
stealthily  toward  the  cluster  of  lodges,  which  were 
so  close  together  that  the  bark  of  which  they  were 
composed  came  in  contact  at  the  base. 

Selecting  the  central  lodge,  he  was  not  long  in 
effecting  an  entrance.  He  had  brought  with  him  a 
quantity  of  dried  brush  and  leaves,  which  he  placed 
against  the  sides  of  the  tent,  and  then  striking  a  fire 
with  a  flint  and  steel,  which  he  always  carried  with 
him  (for  loco-foco  matches  were  unknown  luxuries  in 
those  days),  after  some  time  he  succeeded  in  kindling 
a  blaze,  which  soon  seized  upon  the  inflammable  mate- 
rial of  which  the  wigwam  was  composed.  Leaving  a 
package  of  powder  in  the  centre  of  the  lodge,  he  has- 
tily took  his  departure,  closing  every  aperture  whence 
the  light  could  be  seen.  He  then  started  for  the 
woods,  but  before  he  reached  them  the  explosion  took 
place,  and  the  yell  of  the  savages  burst  upon  his  ears. 
Startling  from  his  stooping  posture,  he  rushed  to  the 
place  where  he  had  left  his  rifle.  Once  more  under 
cover,  with  the  knowledge  he  possessed  of  forest  life, 
he  had  no  apprehensions  of  pursuit. 

Hovering  in  the  skirts  of  the  forest  he  saw  the  sav- 
ages, four  in  number,  after  they  had  made  an  attempt 
to  secure  their  skins  and  stcres,  suddenly  rush  to  the 


THE   SETTLERSL  331 

rear  of  the  encampment,  where  they  gathered  in  a 
state  of  great  excitement.  One  of  them  hastily  en- 
tered the  lodge  in  which  Ellen  had  been  confined,  and 
as  hastily  emerged,  gesticulating  and  speaking  in  a 
most  excited  manner.  Presently  a  wild  outcry  burst 
from  one  of  the  number,  who  had  gone  toward  the 
forest,  which  drew  the  rest  to  his  side.  To  the  Scout's 
surprise,  he  saw  them  stoop  down  and  lift  up  what 
appeared  to  be  a  dead  body.  Could  it  be  that  the  cap- 
tive or  the  young  man  had  fallen?  —  this  was  the  first 
thought  that  darted  into  his  mind.  The  mystery  was 
shortly  solved,  for  the  savages  soon  bore  the  corpse 
into  the  centre  of  the  camp,  and  placed  it  on  a  mat  in 
front  of  one  of  the  lodges.  As  they  laid  the  body 
down,  the  Scout  saw  by  the  glare  of  the  burning  wig- 
wams the  torn  and  ghastly  throat. 

"  That  is  some  of  Brave's  doings,"  the  old  man 
chuckled  to  himself.  "  The  varmint  was  on  their 
track,  no  doubt,  and  the  dog  seized  upon  him.  That 
pup  is  worth  his  weight  in  gold." 

The  attention  of  the  Scout  was  soon  attracted  to 
the  movements  of  the  savages.  He  saw  them  looking 
around  diligently  as  if  in  search  of  the  trail  of  the 
fugitives,  and  presently  he  knew  by  their  actions  that 
they  had  discovered  it.  Two  of  the  party  were  evi- 
dently about  to  follow  it  up.  This  the  old  man  deter- 
mined to  prevent,  even  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life. 

Stepping  out  into  the  clearing,  he  levelled  his  piece 
at  the  foremost  Indian.  Was  he  ever  known  to  miss  a 
shot?  The  woods  echoed  with  the  report,  and  the 
Indian  fell  headlong  to  the  earth.  During  the  confu- 
sion that  ensued,  the  old  man  deliberately  reloaded  his 


332  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

rifle,  and  then  started  off  in  a  direction  contrary  to 
that  taken  by  the  fugitives. 

With  a  yell  of  rage  the  savages  rushed  in  pursuit, 
one  of  whom  discharged  his  gun  at  him,  but  without 
effect,  although  the  ball  split  a  sapling  close  by  his 
side. 

^'  A  good  shot,"  muttered  the  Scout  to  himself,  "  a 
capital  shot,  if  aimed  at  the  sapling.  But  you  can't 
expect  much  from  such  a  breed.'' 

The  old  man  led  the  chase  some  distance  in  the 
woods,  until,  coming  to  a  large  fallen  tree,  he  dropped 
suddenly  to  the  ground,  and  crept  under  its  trunk, 
where  the  branches  grew  the  thickest.  His  pursuers 
soon  arrived  at  the  spot,  and  two  of  them  kept  on, 
while  one  of  them  sat  down  on  the  butt  of  the  fallen 
tree,  evidently  to  rest  himself  The  Scout  could  hear 
him  breathing  heavily,  as  if  exhausted  with  the  pur- 
suit. 

It  was  a  critical  moment  with  the  old  hunter.  The 
least  movement  on  his  part  would  betray  his  hiding- 
place.  In  case  he  should  be  discovered,  he  deemed  it 
best  to  be  prepared  for  the  struggle;  he  therefore 
cautiously  felt  for  his  hunting-knife.  In  drawing  it 
from  its  sheath,  he  accidentally  struck  his  arm  against 
a  small  dry  limb,  which  broke  with  a  slight  noise. 
This  at  once  attracted  the  attention  of  the  savage, 
who  sprang  to  his  feet  and  threw  suspicious  glances 
around  him. 

The  Scout  had  no  fears  of  coping  with  the  savage 
single-handed,  and  would  have  made  the  venture,  did 
he  not  know  that  the  whoop  of  the  Indian  would  re- 
call his  companions,  thus  making  the  odds  too  much 
for  him.     He  tlierefore  kept  quiet,  and  fortunately  for 


THE  SETTLERS.  333 

Lim, — as  the  Indian  was  creeping  warily  towards  him, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  reaching  out  his  hand  to 
remove  some  of  the  branches  that  sheltered  him, —  a 
partridge,  or  some  other  bird,  broke  from  among  the 
limbs,  seemingly  frightened  from  its  nest,  and  took 
refuge  in  some  underbrush  in  the  vicinity.  The  sight 
of  the  bird  at  once  allayed  the  suspicion  of  the  sav- 
age, and  after  a  short  halt,  to  the  Scout's  great  relief, 
he  started  in  the  direction  taken  by  the  others. 

Waiting  until  the  sound  of  his  retiring  footsteps 
was  lost,  the  Scout  crept  softly  from  his  covert,  and 
with  a  light  step  retraced  his  way  to  the  encamp- 
ment. Just  before  he  reached  the  open  space,  he 
heard  a  quick  movement  behind  him,  and  he  imme- 
diately sprang  behind  a  tree  for  a  cover.  He  might 
have  succeeded  in  concealing  himself  from  an  enemy, 
but  he  could  not  from  the  faithful  Brave,  who  rushed 
toward  and  leaped  upon  him  with  the  most  lively 
manifestations  of  joy. 

"  Ha,  pup  !  you  come  in  good  time  I "  said  his  mas- 
ter, patting  him  heartily.  "  I  've  started  the  reptyles 
on  a  wrong  scent.  Brave,  and  you  must  put  me  on  the 
right  one.  Come,  old  fellow !  "  and  the  Scout  fol- 
lowed around  the  edge  of  the  forest,  until  he  arrived 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  lodge  recently  occupied  by 
Ellen. 

The  embers  of  the  burnt  lodges  still  emitted  a  lurid 
light,  and  a  heavy  smoke  still  hung  over  the  ground 
and  curled  among  the  trees.  Occasionally  the  cinders 
would  flame  up,  throwing  a  momentary  light  upon  the 
surrounding  objects ;  then  die  away,  leaving  the  place 
enveloped  in  a  ten-fold  gloom.    A  grim  smile  played 


Soi  FOREST   AND  SHORE. 

over  the  old  man's  face  as  lie  gazed  upon  the  scene 
of  desolation. 

"The  varmints  have  had  their  bonfire,"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  "but  't ain't  such  a  one  as  they  calkerlated 
on,  I  reckon  !  If  't  wan't  for  the  youngster  and  gal, 
noAv,  I  'd  wait  here  jest  to  enjoy  the  rage  of  the  sar- 
pents  who  have  gone  down  the  river,  when  they  come 
back  and  find  what 's  been  done." 

The  Scout  was  gratified,  for,  as  he  turned  to  leave 
the  spot,  he  heard  the  quick  dip  of  paddles,  and  pres- 
ently two  canoes  shot  into  the  cove,  from  which  some 
seven  or  eight  savages  leaped  to  the  land.  They 
were  met  on  landing  by  two  or  three  squaws.  There 
was  a  noisy  jabbering  and  violent  gesticulations  on 
both  sides,  followed  by  a  howl  of  rage  that  made  the 
forest  ring  again.  In  their  frenzy  some  of  them  leaped, 
around  the  ruined  lodges  like  maniacs,  twisting  their 
faces  into  the  most  diabolical  contortions,  gnashing 
their  teeth  like  famished  wolves,  and  brandishing  their 
tomahawks  fiercely  in  the  air,  as  if  in  the  presence  of 
their  hated  foe. 

"  Come,  pup,  let 's  be  off!  "  said  the  hunter.  "  That, 
now,  is  something  worth  hearing  and  seeing.  To 
call  them  critturs  human  beings  1  Why,  a  pack  of 
starved  catermounts  wouldn't  cut  up  such  awful 
freaks ! "  With  these  remarks,  the  old  fellow^  followed 
the  dog,  which  had  caught  the  scent  of  the  fugitives, 
into  the  woods. 

Henry  and  Ellen  had  continued  their  way  through 
the  mazes  of  the  forest.  At  the  first  he  was  particu- 
lar in  following  the  direction  given  him  in  regard  to 
keeping  the  moon  over  his  right  shoulder.  Ilad  he 
not  paid  attention  to  this  he  would  probably  have 


THE   SETTLERS.  335 

made  but  little  progress.  There  is  no  place  where 
one  iian  be  so  easily  lost  as  in  a  forest;  and  in  the 
night-time,  without  something  especial  to  guide  you, 
one  cannot  take  ten  paces  without  being  completely 
bewildered  in  regard  to  the  proper  direction  to  be 
followed. 

As  our  young  couple  journeyed  on,  their  conversa- 
tion was  naturally  directed  to  the  exciting  incidents 
connected  with  the  circumstances  in  which  they  were 
placed.  But  gradually  the  topic  was  changed :  Ellen 
whispered  of  gratitude,  which  her  companion  re- 
sponded to  as  any  young  man  would  in  such  a  situa- 
tion, until  at  length,  insensibly,  as  it  were,  Henry 
found  himself  breathing  in  the  ear  of  the  blushing 
maiden  that  tale  which,  the  poet  tells  us, 

"  Must  be  told  by  the  moonlight  alone  !  '* 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  mode  of  whiling  away  the 
tedium  of  a  night  tramp,  and  from  our  heart  we  can- 
not blame  the  young  man,  who,  no  doubt,  was  prompted 
to  it  by  a  desire  to  make  his  companion  forget  the 
dangers  that  surrounded  them.  And  most  admirably 
did  he  succeed.  We  doubt  whether,  if  a  savage  had 
started  up  by  their  elbows,  they  would  have  given 
him  more  than  a  careless  glance,  perhaps  a  reproving 
one,  for  his  intrusion. 

They  were  wandering  along  in  that  happy  reverie 
in  which  it  is  said  young  lovers  are  apt  to  indulge 
when  taking  a  walk  by  moonlight,  when  Henry  was 
startled  out  of  his  elysian  dream  by  feeling  a  heavy 
hand  laid  on  his  left  shoulder. 

"  Ha,  youngster !  "  and  the  voice  of  the  Scout  was 


336  FOREST   AXD   SHORE. 

toned  with  good-humored  irony,  "  is  this  your  right 
shoulder?  The  moon  up  yonder  seems  to  be  peeping 
over  it,  at  any  rate  !  Wal,  wal,  it  is  n't  strange,  when 
one's  head  and  heart  get  turned,  that  the  body  should 
turn  with  them.  It 's  risky  business,  Miss,  for  young 
folks  to  be  roving  abroad  in  the  forest  at  night; 
they're  mighty  apt  to  mistake  their  way.  I  was 
young  once  myself;"  and  the  old  man  chuckled  over 
his  remarks. 

"  But  the  night  is  fast  waning,"  he  continued  ;  "  we 
have  a  long  tramp  yet  before  us,  and  had  better  hurry 
on.  It 's  lucky  the  Injuns  have  n't  their  dogs  with 
them  to  follow  up  our  trail.  I  make  no  doubt,  as 
soon  as  there  is  sufficient  light,  they  will  be  upon  it." 

"  We  heard  the  report  of  guns,  and  were  fearful 
that  something  might  have  happened  to  you,"  said 
Ellen. 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  bit  of  a  skrimmage  —  not  much  to 
speak  of.  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  the  party 
which  went  down  the  river  have  returned  without 
bringing  the  boy ;  so  I  consate  he  's  safe.  They  were 
awfully  riled  when  they  found  the  lodges  were  de- 
stroyed. I  hope,  Miss,  you  '11  be  able  to  go  along  a 
piece  farther,  for  the  varmints  have  got  their  blood 
up,  and  will  surely  be  on  our  heels." 

Ellen  assured  him  that  she  felt  perfectly  able  to 
keep  on,  and  urged  their  doing  so.  Striking  into  an 
Indian  file,  the  Scout  taking  the  lead  and  Henry 
bringing  up  the  rear,  while  Brave  acted  as  a  sort  of 
escort,  they  proceeded  rapidly  on  their  way.  The 
utmost  caution  was  exercised  by  the  Scout  to  pre- 
vent, as  much  as  possible,  leaving  any  marks  to  indi- 
cate the  route  they  had  taken.     Every  artifice  was 


THE   SETTLERS.  3r>  i 

resorted  to  in  order  to  perplex  those  who  might  fol- 
low them. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

After  the  return  of  George,  the  whole  interest  of 
the  inmates  of  the  block-house  was  concentrated  on 
Ellen  and  those  who  were  seeking  her  rescue.  The 
fears  of  her  parents  were  in  some  degree  allayed,  and 
they  hardly  entertained  a  doubt  but  that  her  deliver- 
ance would  be  effected.  All  eyes  were  now  bent  on 
the  bridge,  in  expectation  of  the  appearance  of  the 
party.  Henry's  message  to  Mrs.  Millet,  that  Ellen 
would  not  be  long  behind  George,  had  greatly  excited 
the  hopes  of  all,  and  she  was  confidently  looked  for 
before  breakfast,  which  had  been  put  off  to  a  late 
hour  on  her  account. 

But  hour  after  hour  passed  by,  and  still  there  were 
no  signs  of  her  coming.  Slowly  the  time  crept  on 
until  noon,  and  with  every  passing  hour  the  anxiety 
of  the  inmates  increased.  Doubts  began  to  fill  their 
minds  of  the  most  painful  nature.  Had  the  attempted 
rescue  failed  ?  And  if  so,  would  not  the  savages,  to 
prevent  any  further  trouble,  as  well  as  to  avenge  their 
disappointment  by  reason  of  George's  flight,  murder 
Ellen  at  once  ?  These  were  the  questions  they  asked 
of  each  other,  with  a  fearful  apprehension  of  the 
worst. 

A  watch  had  been  stationed  in  the  tower  to  give 

notice  of  the  approach  of  the  absent  party ;  and,  as  the 

recently  excited  hopes  were  giving  way  to  despair,  it 

was  announced  that  a  report  of  a  gun  was  heard  afar 

29 


338  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

off  in  the  woods.  All  assembled  to  listen,  and  again  a 
report  was  heard,  followed  by  still  others.  A  hasty 
consultation  was  instantly  held.  The  party  were  evi- 
dently near  at  hand,  but  had  been  followed  and  were 
now  attacked  by  the  Indians. 

Six  young  men  immediately  volunteered^  their  ser- 
vices to  hasten  to  their  assistance,  and,  led  off  by 
Eveleth,  they  started  at  a  rapid  pace  in  the  direction 
whence  the  reports  came.  As  they  crossed  the  bridge 
and  struck  off  through  the  woods,  repeated  shots  told 
them  that  the  party  were  hotly  engaged,  and  guided 
their  steps  to  the  combat.  They  pressed  on  at  great 
speed,  nerved  with  excitement,  which  was  not  a  little 
heightened  by  hearing  a  wild  outcry  that  sounded  to 
their  ears  like  the  triumphant  yell  of  the  savages. 

"  Press  on,  press  on ! "  shouted  Eveleth,  as  he  dashed 
ahead  with  renewed  speed.  "  We  may  be  too  late  to 
save  them.  That  shout  spoke  of  some  advantage  on 
the  part  of  the  Indians." 

It  was  not  long  before  they  reached  the  scene  of 
action,  and  their  arrival  was  not  a  moment  too  soon, 
for  they  found  the  Scout  and  Henry  engaged  with  some 
eight  or  ten  Indians  in  a  desperate  tree  fight.  The 
fugitives  had  been  forced  to  take  a  devious  course 
in  order  to  blind  pursuit.  Fortunately  they  had 
arrived  nearly  within  gunshot  sound  of  the  fort  be- 
fore the  Indians  came  up  with  them.  Finding  that 
they  could  not  escape  them,  they  had  slowly  retreated, 
keeping  the  enemy  at  bay,  until  they  reached  a  heavy 
growth  of  timber,  where  they  came  to  a  halt.  Through 
this  dense  wood,  fortunately  for  them,  there  ran  a 
windrow  of  trees,  caused  by  one  of  those  tornadoes 


THE   SETTLERS.  339 

which  often  pass  through  a  forest,  like  some  huge 
monster,  treading  down  the  tallest  trees  in  its  path. 

This  windrow  served  admirably  as  a  barricade  ;  and, 
stationing  themselves  behind  this  defence,  they  kept 
the  foe  in  check,  trusting  that  the  report  of  their  guns 
would  be  heard  at  the  block-house,  and  bring  a  party 
to  their  relief.  Ellen,  in  the  meanwliile,  was  concealed 
in  a  deep  grassy  hollow,  where,  by  crouching  down, 
she  -would  be  protected  from  any  chance  shot.  Henry 
urged  her  to  proceed  on  alone,  but  she  persisted  in 
remaining. 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  here  in  danger,"  she  replied  to 
his  remonstrances.  "  If  you  lose  your  life,  I  do  not 
wish  mine  to  be  saved." 

As  the  supply  of  ammunition  was  getting  low,  the 
party  had  to  be  sparing  of  its  use,  and  only  fired  when 
they  were  sure  their  shots  would  be  effective. 

The  savages,  who  were  on  a  slightly  rising  ground, 
took  advantage  of  the  trees,  skulking  from  one  to 
another,  gradually  drawing  nearer  to  the  fallen  timber, 
on  which  it  was  their  evident  intention  to  make  a  rush, 
when  they  should  succeed  in  drawing  the  fire  of  the 
little  party. 

"We  must  resarve  our  shots,"  said  the  Scout,  coolly 
taking  a  piece  of  dried  meat  from  his  pouch  and  eating 
it.  "  The  varmints  are  mighty  tricky.  Here,  now,  is 
a  trick  of  theirs  when  they  want  to  waste  the  powder 
of  their  foe."  So  saying,  the  old  man  raised  his  cap 
a  few  inches  above  the  logs  by  means  of  a  stick.  No 
sooner  was  it  up,  than  there  was  a  discharge  from  the 
Indians,  and  a  ball  went  humming  through  it.  "  There, 
you  see,  youngster,  is  so  much  powder  burnt  for  noth- 
ing," said  the  hunter,  as  he  picked  up  his  cap  as  com- 


40  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

posedly  as  if  he  were  safe  in  the  fort ;  "  therefore  don't 
fire  at  the  imps  unless  you  are  sure  of  them.'' 

While  he  was  speaking,  the  Indians  raised  a  shout 
of  triumph  at  the  result  of  the  shot,  and  two  or  three 
of  them  started  forward  from  their  covers.  Worthly 
caught  the  movement,  and  a  shot  from  his  rifle  brought 
the  foremost  savage  to  the  ground. 

"  Well  done,  my  boy  I  "  exclaimed  the  Scout.  "  They 
will  I'arn  a  lesson  from  that,  I  consate,  that  a  white 
skin  has  cunning  as  well  as  a  red  one." 

The  late  shout  of  triumph  was  exchanged  for  a  yell 
of  rage,  as  the  enemy  saw  one  of  their  number  bite 
the  dust,  and  became  aware  of  the  trick  that  had  been 
played  upon  them.  It  is  a  custom  with  the  red  men, 
when  one  of  their  number  falls,  to  proclaim  their  loss 
by  wild  shouts  of  rage.  With  the  white  man  it  is 
different.  He  will  stand  in  stern  silence  and  witness 
battalion  after  battalion  mowed  down,  as  at  Waterloo, 
the  only  sounds  that  are  heard  being  the  groans  and 
cries  of  the  wounded  and  dying. 

After  the  yell  that  attended  the  fall  of  the  Indian, 
an  ominous  silence  prevailed  among  the  band.  Not 
a  sound  was  heard  nor  a  sign  perceived  to  denote 
their  presence. 

"  I  don't  like  this,"  said  the  old  man,  after  waiting 
some  time.  "  Keep  a  sharp  lookout,  youngster ;  I  mis- 
trust the  varmints  are  planning  some  mischief" 

At  this  moment  a  cry  from  Ellen  startled  them. 
"  Henry,  Henry  !  Scout !  0  Heaven,  they  are  creep- 
ing over  the  trees  —  there  at  the  right  I  " 

It  was  too  true.  Three  or  four  of  the  savages  had 
stolen  away  unperceived  to  the  right,  and  were  scaling 
the   fallan  trees,   thus    out-flanldng;    the  little    party. 


THE  SETTLERS.  341 

Their  case  now  appeared  desperate,  and  Henry  looked 
to  the  Scout,  with  an  anxious,  inquiring  look. 

There  was  a  ferocious  fire  gleaming  in  the  old  man's 
eyes,  and  the  expression  of  his  features  evinced  a 
bold  determination.  ^'  There  's  no  help  for  it,  boy  !  '^ 
he  muttered,  between  his  clenched  teeth :  "  we  must 
take  each  of  us  to  a  tree,  and  sell  our  lives  as  dearly 
as  possible.  I  would  n't  mind  it  much  if  the  gal  was 
out  of  harm's  way.  Lay  low.  Miss,  so  that  the  shot 
shan't  hit  you.  They  shall  have  my  life  before  a  hair 
of  her  head  is  touched." 

"  And  mine,  too,  if  a  thousand  were  linked  with  it," 
said  Henry,  firmly,  who  in  this  great  extremity  still 
remained  unshaken  in  his  courage. 

At  the  bidding  of  the  Scout,  Ellen  crouched  trem- 
blingly to  the  earth,  while  the  old  man  and  his  com- 
panion each  took  to  a  tree  for  a  cover.  They  could 
see  the  Indians  gliding  from  one  trunk  to  another 
towards  them,  but  they  did  not  dare  to  venture  a  shot 
until  they  were  secure  of  their  men,  and  the  woods 
here  were  so  dense  that  the  savages  could  approach 
them  more  safely. 

After  a  time  the  Scout  discharged  his  piece  at  one 
of  the  five,  whose  body  was  not  wholly  covered.  A 
cry  of  pain  told  that  the  shot  had  taken  efiect,  although 
not  a  fatal  one.  At  almost  the  same  moment,  happen- 
ing to  cast  his  eye  to  the  left,  Henry  detected  a  savage 
creeping  up  to  attack  them  in  the  rear.  He  immedi- 
ately fired  at  him,  and  the  Indian  fell  mortally  wounded. 
No  sooner  was  the  report  heard  than  a  rush  was 
made  by  the  savages  in  front,  with  brandished  toma- 
hawks.    There  was  no  time  to  reload. 

"  Club  your  rifle,  boy,"  shouted  the  old  man ;  "  let 
29* 


342  lOREST  AND  SHORE. 

US  sell  our  lives  dearly."  And  the  two  stood  with 
clubbed  pieces,  determined  to  defend  themselves  to 
the  last,  while,  close  in  the  rear  of  the  hunter,  stood 
Brave,  with  hair  erect,  and  showing  a  formidable  row 
of  teeth,  ready  to  join  the  melee. 

So  absorbed  had  been  both  parties  in  the  others' 
movements,  that  they  had  not  perceived  the  company 
of  young  men,  who  were  cautiously  making  their  way 
through  the  woods.  The  first  notice  that  they  had 
of  their  presence  was  a  ringing  -volley,  which  was 
nearly  simultaneous  with  the  charge  made  by  the  sav- 
ages, followed  by  a  loud  shout,  as  the  young  men 
rushed  into  view  of  the  astonished  and  dehghted  Scout 
and  his  companion. 

The  volley  was  well  directed,  for  three  out  of  four 
of  the  savages  plunged  forward  and  fell  to  the  earth 
in  the  struggle  of  death,  the  tomahawk  of  one  of  them 
flying  through  the  air  and  burying  itself  in  the  very 
tree  behind  which  Henry  had  taken  refuge. 

"To  cover,  youngsters,  to  cover!''  shouted  the 
Scout,  reloading  his  .rifle,  while  an  exulting  smile 
played  over  his  countenance.  And,  springing  to  the 
barricade,*  his  example  was  immediately  followed  by 
the  rest. 

But  the  danger  was  passed.  The  few  remaining 
savages,  seeing  the  fall  of  their  companions,  retreated 
precipitately,  leaving  four  of  their  band  on  the  ground. 
When  this  fact  was  ascertained,  loud  and  hearty  were 
the  congratulations  that  passed  between  the  parties, 
the  rescuers  and  the  rescued,  in  wdiich  Ellen,  though 
pallid  and  shaking  with  recent  affright,  joined  as  heart- 
ily as  the  rest.  The  old  hunter,  meanwhile,  busied 
himself  in  securing  the  spoils,  that  is,  the  arras  and 


THE  SETTLERS.  343 

ammunition,  not  forgetting  the  scalps,  of  the  fallen. 
This  accomplished,  with  joyful  steps  the  company 
started  for  the  block-house. 

As  they  drew  near  the  bridge,  three  shots  fired  in 
rapid  succession  gave  notice  to  those  in  the  fort  of 
the  success  of  the  expedition,  to  which  the  swivel  in 
the  tower  immediately  sent  back  a  booming  response. 

With  what  emotions  of  joy  did  Ellen  recross  that 
rustic  bridge  and  emerge  into  the  clearing  I  Half 
way  down  the  slope  Annie  came  flying  rather  than 
running,  and  with  wild  exclamations  of  joy  threw 
herself  into  the  arms  of  her  cousin.  Just  outside 
of  the  palisade  stood  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Millet,  ready  to 
receive  their  daughter,  while  gathered  within  clus- 
tered the  inmates,  eager  to  welcome  the  rescued 
one,  but  standing  apart,  out  of  respect  to  the  feel- 
ings of  the  parents,  whose  agitation  was  too  great  for 
concealment. 

As  the  party  drew  near,  Henry,  with  a  face  glow- 
ing with  happiness,  stepped  out  from  the  little  group, 
leading  Ellen  by  the  hand.  In  silence  he  conducted 
her  to  her  father,  who  stood  with  outstretched  arms 
to  receive  her.  Folding  her  to  his  breast  in  a  warm 
embrace,  he  raised  his  hands  devoutly,  and  said,  in 
tones  almost  too  full  for  utterance:  "Yerily,  God 
hath  heard  me ;  he  hath  attended  to  the  voice  of  my 
prayer.  Blessed  be  God,  which  hath  not  turned 
away  my  prayer,  nor  his  mercy  from  me  ! " 

Choking  back  her  tears,  —  tears  springing  from  a 
heart  surcharged  with  happiness,  —  Ellen  left  her 
father's  arms  to  be  received  into  her  mother's  pas- 
sionate embrace.  Not  a  few  eyes,  unused  to  tears, 
grew  moist  over  that  tender  meeting,  —  a  scene  w© 


344  FOREST  A^'D  SHORE. 

sbould  vainly  endeavor  to  portray,  although  it  is  one 
we  delight  to  linger  over. 

The  reception  given  to  the  Scout  and  Henry  you 
may  be  sure  was  not  wanting  in  warmth  and  hearti- 
ness. Such  grasping  and  shaking  of  hands,  and  such 
noisy  congratulations,  are  not  witnessed  every  day. 

The  following  morning,  as  the  Scout  was  about 
taking  his  leave  (for  he  was  not  a  man  to  remain  long 
inactive),  Ellen  went  up  to  him,  and,  placing  her  hand 
in  his,  renewedly  thanked  him  for  his  services,  and 
added,  "  How  shall  I  repay  the  great  debt  I  owe 
you.  Scout?'' 

"  That  depends  on  sarcumstances,  gal,"  said  the  old 
hunter,  fondling  the  plump  little  hand  in  his  broad 
palm  as  he  would  a  young  bird.  "  Have  you  squared 
accounts  with  the  youngster  yonder?  " 

"  He  says  he  is  satisfied,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  glow- 
ing face,  casting  a  bright  glance  towards  Henry. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  the  rogue  has  forestalled  me," 
rejoined  the  Scout.  "  Wal,  then,  I  s'pose  I  must  be 
content  with  an  invitation  to  the  wedding,  which,  in 
course,  will  come  off  one  of  these  days.  He  is  worthy 
of  you.  Miss,  and  may  God  bless  you  both  I  Come, 
pup;"  and,  followed  by  the  dog,  he  left  the  block- 
house, and  soon  struck  into  the  woods. 

The  main  interest  of  our  story  is  over.  Disheart- 
ened by  their  losses,  the  Indians  did  not  make  their 
appearance  again  that  winter.  In  the  spring  the  men, 
under  protection  of  the  guns  of  the  fort,  ventured 
out  to  see  to  their  farms.  But  it  was  not  until  the 
year  1760  that  they  finally  left  the  block-house,  and 
returned  to  their  long-deserted  homes.  During  this 
time  two  of  the  men  had  been  seized  by  the  savages, 


THE   SETTLERS.  345 

and  carried  prisoners  to  Canada,  and  one  was  killed 
and  scalped  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town,  after  which 
the  settlement  received  no  further  trouble  from  the 
Indians. 

We  suppose  we  should  not  be  pardoned  if  we  omit- 
ted to  describe  one  pleasing  incident  which  took  place 
the  fall  after  the  rescue  of  the  captives. 

One  fine  autumnal  evening  there  was  an  unusual 
stir  in  the  block-house.  All  the  elderly  persons  were 
dressed  in  their  go-to-meeting  clothes,  and  all  the 
young  folks  decked  out  in  their  holiday  attire.  A 
great  event  was  to  come  off —  a  double  wedding  to 
take  place.  We  are  half  tempted  to  describe  the 
young  couples,  as  they  stood  up  there,  flushed  with 
the  glory  of  youth  and  of  anticipated  bliss.  But  all 
brides  are  ''  beautiful,"  and  as  for  bridegrooms,  who 
cares  a  fig  for  them  ? 

Conspicuous  among  those  who  witnessed  the  cere- 
mony was  the  tall  form  of  the  Scout,  with  his  noble 
dog  by  his  side.  When  the  rites  were  performed,  the 
old  man  took  the  hands  of  Henry  and  Ellen  with  a 
hearty  grasp: 

"  God  bless  you,  young  folks  I "  said  he,  with  no 
little  emotion.  '^  You  little  dreamed  of  this,  I  con- 
sate,  one  year  ago  this  night,  when  you  were  tramp- 
ing in  the  woods,  with  the  infarnal  red-skins  arter 
you !  " 

Henry  and  Ellen  glanced  archly  at  each  other,  as 
their  thoughts  reverted  to  the  moonlight  walk. 

"  Ha,  youngsters,"  said  the  Scout,  who  surmised 
their  thoughts,  "  you 're  thinking  of  the  moon's  get- 
ting over  the  wrong  shoulder !  There  was  some- 
thing warmer  than  moonshine  on  't  other  shoulder,  I 


34(3  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

consate  I  Did  n't  I  tell  you  that  it  was  risky  business 
for  young  folks  to  be  abroad  in  the  woods  by  moon- 
light? and  you  see  here  what  has  come  of  it." 

We  leave  our  principal  personages  "with  the  cup 
of  happiness  at  their  lips,  trusting  that  we  may 
hereafter  meet  them  again  under  not  less  agreeable 
auspices. 


THE   LIBERTY  POLE. 

A    TALE    OF    MACHIAS. 

0  for  the  swords  of  former  time  ! 

0  for  the  men  Tvho  bore  them  ! 
When,  armed  for  right,  they  stood  sublime, 

And  tyrants  crouched  before  them.       Mooeb. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Ox  an  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  April,  1775,  a 
number  of  persons  were  collected  in  a  small  tavern  in 
the  town  of  Machias.  A  day  or  two  previous  the 
inhabitants  had  received  the  proclamation  of  the 
Provincial  Congress  of  Massachusetts,  authorizing  and 
requiring  preparations  and  efforts  to  be  made  inci- 
dent to  a  state  of  hostility.  The  people  of  Machias 
had,  from  the  first,  been  strenuously  opposed  to  the 
usurpations  of  the  British  Government ;  and  the  sole 
topic  of  conversation,  whenever  a  few  met  together, 
was  this  exciting  subject.  On  the  evening  in  ques- 
tion, a  much  larger  number  than  usual  had  assembled 
to  talk  over  the  stirring  news  recently  received  from 
Boston. 

Conspicuous  among  the  rest  were  two  young  men, 
brothers,  by  the  name   of  O'Brion,  sons  of  Morris 

(847) 


348  FOREBT    AND   SHORE. 

O'Brion,  who  came  to  this  country  from  Cork,  in  Ire- 
land. Seated  around  the  ample  fireplace,  enjoying 
their  pipes  and  cans,  the  all-engrossing  topic  of  the 
hour  was  canvassed  by  one  and  all. 

At  last  the  elder  of  the  brothers,  Jeremiah  O'Brien, 
spoke  out :  "  Well,  neighbors,  what  do  you  think  of 
this  rumor  that  is  flying  about?" 

"  What  rumor  do  you  allude  to  ?  "  asked  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Foster,  who  sat  near  by,  and  who  held 
the  dignified  office  of  colonel  in  the  militia. 

"  Why,  that  the  first  blow  has  been  struck.  Colonel, 
and  American  blood  spilt  at  Lexington  and  Concord." 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  news  ?  "  was  the  immedi- 
ate inquiry  of  nearly  all  present. 

"  I  know  not  how  the  news  reached  us,  but  such  is 
the  report." 

"  And  what  followed  ?  "  rejomed  Colonel  Foster,  in 
a  tone  of  great  earnestness.  "  Did  our  people  submit 
to  the  outrage?  Were  they  so  dastardly  as  not  to 
retaliate?" 

"  You  must  mistake  the  spirit  of  the  people  of  Lex- 
ington and  Concord,  Colonel,  if  you  think  they  pa- 
tiently submitted  to  such  an  act  of  violence.  Not 
they ;  many  a  red-coat  bit  the  dust  in  consequence. 
Men,  bowed  down  by  age,  forgot  the  weight  of  years ; 
and  boys,  scarcely  able  to  hold  a  musket,  rushed  forth 
to  avenge  the  blood  of  their  countrymen;  and  all 
along,  so  says  the  report,  the  road  was  strewed  with 
the  dead  bodies  of  the  retreating  enemy." 

^^  God  grant  it  may  be  true  !  "  was  echoed  from  sev- 
eral parts  of  the  room. 

"I  move,"  said  O'Brion,  when  the  agitation  wlx'>> 


THE   LIBERTY  POLE.  249 

tliis  news  Lad  excited  had  subsided, 'Hhat  to-morrow 
we  raise  a  Liberty  Pole  in  front  of  the  town-house.'^ 

^'  Agreed  !  agreed  !  "  was  the  animated  response 
from  every  quarter. 

"  And  that  a  Committee  of  Safety  be  appointed,"  he 
added,  "  who  shall  have  a  supervision  of  all  the  affairs 
relating  to  the  proclamation  lately  received  from  the 
Provincial  Congress." 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  gentlemen,  for  interfering,  as 
I  am  not  an  inhabitant  of  the  place,"  remarked  a  gen- 
tleman present,  by  the  name  of  Jones,  who  belonged  to 
Boston,  but  who  had  a  store  in  Machias,  and  exercised 
in  consequence  considerable  infli^ence ;  "  while  I  cor- 
dially approve  the  spirit  manifested  on  the  present 
occasion,  yet  permit  me  to  suggest  if  it  would  not  be 
more  advisable  to  call  a  town-meeting,  to  act  on  the 
propositions  that  have  been  made  this  evening.  To 
give  weight  to  acts  of  this  character,  they  should  be 
legally  sanctioned;  and  from  what  I  know  of  the  good 
people  of  Machias,  I  doubt  not  they  will  unanimously 
coincide  with  your  views." 

This  seasonable  proposition  won  the  assent  of  all ; 
for  it  is  a  noted  fact,  that  the  men  of  the  Revolution 
were  a  '' law-and-order "  loving  people,  and  all  the 
acts  which  preceded  that  great  movement  were  in  con- 
formity to  a  previously  authorized  "  vote." 

Accordingly,  the  next  day  a  public  meeting  of  the 
inhabitants  was  called,  at  which  it  was  voted  to  com- 
ply fully  with  the  requisitions  of  the  proclamation  of 
the  Provincial  Congress.  A  Committee  of  Safety  was 
forthwith  appointed  ;  and  as  a  symbol  of  their  resolu- 
tions, it  was  carried  by  acclamation  that  a  Liberty  Pole 
should  be  immediately  erected. 
30 


350  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

On  the  adjonrnrQent  of  tlie  meeting,  the  O'Brions 
and  a  number  of  the  more  active  spirits  set  about  the 
work.  Selecting  the  tallest  tree  they  could  find,  they 
stripped  it  of  its  branches,  leaving  a  tuft  of  verdure 
at  the  top.  In  the  mean  time,  a  deep  hole  had  been 
dug,  in  which  to  plant  it ;  and  long  before  sunset, 
amid  the  shouts  of  the  assembled  inhabitants  and  the 
discharge  of  muskets,  the  lofty  pole  was  set  and 
secured.  This  work  accomplished,  the  people  gath- 
ered around  it  and  solemnly  pledged  themselves  to 
resist  the  oppression  of  the  mother  country,  and,  if 
occasion  called,  to  sacrifice  their  property,  and  shed 
their  hearts'  blood,  in  defence  of  the  colony.  After 
this  exciting  scene,  they  gradually  dispersed,  firmly 
but  anxiously  awaiting  the  course  of  events. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  occurrence  of  the  events  re- 
lated in  the  last  chapter,  two  merchant  vessels,  in 
British  employ,  arrived  from  Boston,  for  the  purpose 
of  obtaining  pickets  and  plank,  to  be  used  by  the 
English  in  the  defence  of  that  city.  By  this  arrival, 
confirmation  was  received  of  the  battle  at  Lexington, 
and  the  people  of  Machias  were  made  acquainted  with 
the  actual  state  of  afiairs  in  that  quarter,  regarding 
which  there  had  existed  a  great  degree  of  uncertainty 
and  anxiety. 

The  merchant  vessels  were  convoyed  by  a  British 
armed  schooner,  named  the  "  Margaritta,"  mounting 
four    four-pounders  and    sixteen   swivels.      She   was 


THE    LJBEETY   POLE.  351 

commanded  by  a  spirited  young  Irishman,  "by  the 
name  of  Moore,  who,  notwithstanding  his  coming  in 
the  character  of  an  enemy,  by  his  gallantry  and  gen- 
tlemanly conduct  won  largely  the  esteem  of  the  in- 
habitants. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival,  observing  the  Liberty 
Pole,  Captain  Moore  landed,  and  demanded  of  a  group 
who  had  collected  around  the  landing-place,  who  had 
erected  it. 

"  That  pole,  sir,'^  answered  John  O'Brion,  "  was 
erected  by  the  unanimous  approval  of  the  people  of 
Machias." 

"  Well,  sir,'^  rejoined  the  officer,  "  with  or  without 
their  approval,  it  is  my  duty  to  declare  it  must  come 
down.^' 

^^ Must  come  down!^^  repeated  O'Brien,  with  some 
warmth.  "  Those  words  are  very  easily  spoken,  my 
friend.  You  will  find,  I  apprehend,  that  it  is  easier  to 
make  than  it  will  be  to  enforce  a  demand  of  this 
kind.'^ 

"  What !  am  I  to  understand  that  resistance  will  be 
made  ?  Will  the  people  of  Machias  dare  to  disregard 
an  order,  not  originating  with  me,  gentlemen,  but  with 
the  government  whose  officer  I  am  ?  " 

"The  people  of  Machias,"  replied  O'Brion,  "will 
dare  do  anything  in  maintenance  of  their  principles 
and  rights." 

"  It  is  useless  to  bandy  words,"  rejoined  the  officer, 
a  little  nettled  at  the  determined  spirit  manifested 
around  him;  "my  orders  are  peremptory,  and  must 
be  obeyed.  That  Liberty  Pole  must  be  taken  down  in 
one  hour,  or  it  will  be  my  painful  duty  to  fire  on  the 
town." 


552  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

As  the  young  officer  turued  to  re-enter  bis  boat,  be 
was  accosted  by  Mr.  Jones,  the  merchant  we  have 
alluded  to,  who  prevailed  upon  him  to  suspend  bis  de- 
termination until  the  people  could  assemble  in  town- 
meeting,  when  perhaps  the  town  would  agree  to  re- 
move the  objectionable  object. 

During  this  conversation,  the  group  around  dis- 
persed, with  the  understanding  that  the  Committee  of 
Safety  would  meet  that  afternoon  and  consult  about 
this  new  and  exciting  state  of  things. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  afternoon  the  Committee 
met.  Being  composed  of  such  men  as  the  O'Brions, 
Foster,  and  like  spirits,  it  may  readily  be  imagined 
what  their  opinions  were  in  regard  to  taking  down  the 
pole.  Instead  of  discussing  that  question,  they  busied 
themselves  in  forming  plans  to  repel  an  attack,  should 
one  be  made.  They  advised  that  a  town-meeting 
should  be  called,  to  take  the  sense  of  the  inhabitants 
on  the  subject  of  removing  the  pole,  feeling  perfectly 
sure  that  they  would  vote  to  keep  it  up.  In  the  mean 
time,  they  made  arrangements  to  send  off  next  morn- 
ing to  Pleasant  River  Village,  distant  about  twenty 
miles,  and  to  a  few  other  villages,  requesting  the  peo- 
ple to  come  to  Machias  to  help  them  defend  the  sym- 
bol of  liberty. 

The  next  day,  which  was  Saturday,  the  town-meet- 
ing was  held,  and  the  subject  laid  before  it.  It  needed 
not  much  discussion.  There  was  the  demand  and  the 
threat.  "  Let  those,"  said  the  chairman,  "  who  are 
disposed  to  obey  the  one  through  fear  of  the  other 
say  Ay.'^ 

A  silence  as  of  death  prevailed  throughout  the  hall, 


THE   LIBEKTY    POLE.  353 

until  the  chairman  interrupted   it  by  submitting  an- 
other question. 

^'  Those  who  are  opposed  to  taking  down  the  Lib- 
erty Pole  will  please  say  No." 

With  the  suddenness  and  almost  with  the  force  of 
a  thunder-clap,  one  loud  "  No  I "  seemed  to  spring  sim- 
ultaneously from  every  lip. 

'^  The  noes  have  it/'  quietly  remarked  the  chairman, 
whose  voice  had  unconsciously  mingled  with  his  fel- 
low citizens'  when  the  vote  was  determined. 

Captain  Moore  was  somewhat  exasperated  on  learn- 
ing the  vote  of  the  town,  and  would  have  put  his 
threat  into  immediate  execution,  but  for  the  interfer- 
ence a  second  time  of  Mr.  Jones.  That  gentleman 
represented  to  him  that  the  meeting  was  not  fully 
attended,  and  that  the  vote  was  not  a  fair  expression 
of  the  sentiments  of  the  town.  By  urgent  persuasion, 
he  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  respite  until  another 
meeting  was  called,  which  was  to  be  held  on  the  fol- 
lowing Monday. 

"  It  will  grieve  me,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  the  officer,  on 
taking  leave,  "to  resort  to  extreme  measures;  but  you 
may  assure  the  people  that,  unless  they  vote  to  re- 
move the  pole,  in  one  hour  after  their  meeting  breaks 
up  I  will  open  on  the  town." 

With  this  understanding,  and  with  expressions  of 
mutual  respect,  they  parted:  the  one  to  pace  the  quar- 
ter-deck of  his  little  craft,  the  other  to  report  the 
result  of  his  errand. 
30* 


354  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 


CHAPTER    III. 

That  same  evening  a  party  of  five  met  at  the  house 
of  a  Captain  Lambert,  consisting  of  the  two  O'Brions, 
Colonel  Foster,  Mr.  Wheaton,  and  the  gentleman  at 
whose  house  they  met. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  elder  O'Brion,  "Mr. 
Jones  informs  me  that  unless  the  tree  is  taken  down 
on  Monday,  the  town  is  to  be  fired  upon." 

"So  we  were  threatened  yesterday,"  rejoined  Cap- 
tain Lambert,  significantly  ;  "  and  yet  the  tree  stands." 

"Yes,"  added  Colonel  Foster,  "and  will  stand  in 
spite  of  the  King's  authority." 

"Have  you  heard  from  the  messengers  sent  to 
Pleasant  River  and  the  other  settlements  ?  "  inquired 
Wheaton  of  O'Brion. 

"  One  of  them  returned  this  afternoon." 

"  And  what  word  does  he  bring? " 

"  Every  man  who  can  possibly  leave  will  be  here 
to-morrow  or  early  Monday  morning." 

"  I  hope  they  will  come  well  provided  with  ammuni- 
tion," remarked  Colonel  Foster. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  O'Brion;  "the  messenger 
says  there  was  a  great  scarcity  of  powder  at  Pleasant 
River.  However,  they  are  coming,  and  those  who 
cannot  obtain  muskets  will  come  armed  with  pitchforks 
and  scythes.  They  are  all  fired  with  the  true  spirit, 
and  swear  the  pole  shall  not  be  taken  down."    . 

"  You  said  you  had  a  proposition  to  make,"  remarked 
Captain  Lambert,  addressing  John  O'Brion,  who  as  yet 
had  kept  silent. 

"  Mr.  Jonoi  informs  me,"  eaid  the  person  addressed, 


THE  LIBERTY   POLE.  355 

"  that  it  is  the  intention  of  Captain  Moore  to  attend 
religious  worship  on  shore  to-morrow.  About  that 
time  our  friends  from  abroad  will  have  arrived,  and 
my  proposition  is  that  a  number  of  us  carry  concealed 
arms  to  meeting,  and,  when  services  are  over,  seize 
upon  the  captain,  and  after  that  capture  his  vessel." 

^'  It  will  be  a  bold  measure,  an  open  act  of  rebel- 
lion/' remarked  Mr.  Wheaton. 

^'  I  am  aware  of  that,"  continued  O'Brion,*  ^'but  we 
have  the  example  of  the  Old  Colony  people  to  back  us. 
The  King  and  Parliament  may  call  it '  rebeUion,'  if  they 
please,  but  we  who  are  engaged  in  it  know  but  one 
name  for  it,  and  that  is  —  Revolutions^ 

"Well,  gentlemen,  what  do  you  say  to  my  project?" 
said  the  same  speaker,  breaking  the  silence  which  fol- 
lowed his  bold  declaration. 

"  I  say  ay  to  it,  with  all  my  heart,"  exclaimed  Col. 
Foster,  in  which  assent  all  the  rest  joined. 

"  But  who  will  be  the  one  to  seize  the  captain  ?  " 
asked  Lambert. 

"  I  claim  that  privilege,"  said  John  O'Brion.  "  I  will 
have  an  eye  on  him,  and  place  myself  in  his  near 
neighborhood.  You,  gentlemen,  will  stand  ready  to 
aid  me." 

"We  must  make  the  people  acquainted  with  our 
design,"  said  Lambert,  "  so  that  we  may  act  in  con- 
cert." 

"And  I  propose,"  said  Mr.  Wheaton,  "  as  we  compose 
a  majority  of  the  Committee  of  Safety,  that  between 
this  and  morning  we  ascertain  what  quantity  of  powder 
and  balls  we  may  rely  on." 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  the  balls," 
Baid  Jeremiah  O'Brion,    '^  All  the  women  in  the  village 


356  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

have  been  busy  the  whole  afternoon  melting  up  lead 
to  cast  them.  My  mother,  I  know,  in  her  zeal,  melted 
up  an  old  pewter  teapot  for  that  purpose,  in  spite  of 
our  remonstrances,  for  it  was  a  sort  of  heirloom.  The 
women,  if  possible,  are  more  crazy  about  keeping  the 
pole  erect  than  are  the  men." 

A  long  conversation  followed  these  remarks,  having 
reference  to  their  future  proceedings,  after  which  the 
company  separated  for  the  night. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  usual  hour  for  re- 
ligious worship,  here  and  there  men  could  be  seen 
straying  along  singly  and  in  pairs  toward  the  church, 
each  bearing  a  musket,  so  carried  as  least  to  expose 
it  to  view,  for  the  church  stood  a  short  distance  from 
the  river,  and  directly  opposite  the  church  the  Marga- 
ritta  lay  at  anchor.  As  the  men  reached  the  church, 
they  immediately  concealed  their  weapons  in  various 
parts  of  the  house,  ready  for  use,  and  then  disposed 
of  themselves  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  excite  sus- 
picion. 

At  the  appointed  hour.  Captain  Moore  came  ashore 
and  entered  the  church.  John  O'Brion  was  on  the 
lookout  for  him,  and  entered  the  house  soon  after, 
taking  a  seat  directly  behind  him.  There  were  no 
pews  in  the  church,  the  house  being  unfinished,  but 
temporary  seats  had  been  fitted  up,  without  backs,  for 
present  accommodation.  The  weather  being  some- 
what sultry,  the  windows  of  the  church  were  thrown 
open,  and  from  where  the  English  captain  sat,  he  com- 
manded an  extensive  view  of  the  river. 

The  services  commenced.  The  prayers  and  the 
singing  were  gone  through  with,  and  the  sermon  was 
commenced,  which,  like  a  majority  of  the  sermons  oi" 


THE   LIBERTY   POLE.  357 

those  stirring  times,  resembled  more  a  political  har- 
angue than  a  discourse  on  ethics,  —  a  mistake  some- 
times made  by  ministers  in  modern  times,  although  in 
those  days  it  was  expected,  and  chimed  in  with  the 
views  of  the  people. 

Ik  the  course  of  the  sermon,  happening  to  glance 
his  eyes  through  the  window.  Captain  Moore  was  sur- 
prised to  see,  at  the  distance  of  half  or  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  up  the  river,  men  crossing  the  river  on  logs, 
with  guns  in  their  hands.  These  were  the  men  the 
people  of  Machias  had  sent  for,  coming  to  take  part 
in  the  affray.  Realizing  at  once  the  peril  of  his  situ- 
ation, but  without  betraying  alarm,  or  appearing  to 
notice  the  strange  sight,  the  young  captain  again 
turned  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker,  apparently  deeply 
engrossed  in  the  sermon. 

Little  did  he  heed,  however,  the  impassioned  words 
of  the  speaker.  His  mind  was  fully  intent  on  escap- 
ing the  snare  which  he  felt  was  set  for  him ;  for,  now 
that  his  suspicions  were  aroused,  he  could  see  furtive 
glances  bent  upon  him  in  all  directions.  Near  where 
he  sat  was  an  open  window,  the  height  from  which  to 
the  ground  was  trifling.  Taking  advantage  of  a  more 
than  commonly  stormy  sentence  in  the  discourse,  which 
served  to  rivet  the  attention  of  the  congregation,  he 
started  from  his  seat,  and,  leaping  across  the  interven- 
ing benches,  dashed  through  the  window,  and  made 
his  way  directly  to  his  boat. 

In  a  moment  the  whole  church  was  in  an  uproar ; 
but,  in  the  crowding  and  confusion  that  ensued,  instant 
pursuit  was  prevented ;  and  by  the  time  the  men  had 
secured  their  guns  and  were  ready  to  follow  him,  he 
had  succeeded  in  getting  on  boarc"  his  boat  and  push- 


358  FOllEST  AND   SHORE. 

ing  her  off  into  the  stream.  A  few  minutes'  rowing 
carried  him  on  board  his  vessel,  when  he  immediately 
commenced  firing  on  the  town,  the  men  on  shore 
briskly  returning  the  compliment.  After  a  few  dis- 
charges, the  vessel  made  sail  down  the  river,  followed 
by  the  people,  however,  who  kept  up  an  incessant 
fire  of  muskctr}',  until  she  soon  was  beyond  their 
reach.  Ycry  little  damage  was  done  on  either  side  in 
this  affray,  but  the  excitement  of  the  people  was 
aroused  to  the  highest  pitch.  The  church  was  wholly 
deserted  in  the  afternoon,  and  during  the  remainder 
of  the  day  men  might  be  seen  collected  in  groups, 
earnestly  discussing  the  affair,  and  proposing  plans  for 
future  action. 


CHAPTER    lY. 

During  the  day  and  evening,  straggling  parties  from 
out  of  town  continued  to  arrive  in  the  village,  some 
with  muskets,  some  armed  with  pitchforks,  and  some 
with  scythes  fastened  on  poles,  —  formidable  weapons, 
and  used  with  much  effect,  as  we  are  informed  by  a 
Polish  officer,  during  the  Polish  Revolution.  On 
Monday  morning  Machias  was  a  scene  of  great  excite- 
ment. Men  paraded  the  village  with  their  various 
weapons,  while  the  women  searched  every  nook  and 
corner  for  powder  and  lead.  As  a  proof  of  the  spirit 
which  animated  the  latter,  an  incident  is  related,  which, 
as  the  writer  declares,  is  well  "  worthy  of  being  re- 
corded." 

It  seems  that  the  men  who  came  from  Pleasant  River 


THE   LIBERTY   POLE.  359 

settlement  were  greatly  in  want  of  powder,  having  but 
two  or  three  charges  each.  The  wife  of  one  of  the 
party,  having  found  a  horn  of  powder  after  they  were 
gone,  followed  them  twenty  miles  through  the  woods 
(there  being  at  that  time  no  roads)  to  bring  it  to  her 
husband,  and  arrived  with  it  the  next  day  after  the 
party  had  reached  Machias."^  Early  in  the  forenoon 
it  was  decided  to  take  possession  of  a  lumber  sloop  in 
the  river,  and  go  in  pursuit  of  the  schooner.  About 
sixty  volunteers  mustered  on  board,  among  whom 
were  six  brothers  by  the  name  of  O'Brion,  —  Jere- 
miah, Gideon,  John,  William,  Dennis,  and  Joseph.  The 
father  of  this  heroic  family  also  insisted  upon  accom- 
panying them,  but  he  reluctantly  yielded  to  the  wishes 
of  his  sons,  and  remained  on  shore.  The  sloop,  which 
was  afterwards  called  the  Liberty,  started  in  pursuit, 
and  overtook  the  schooner,  which  was  becalmed,  about 
two  leagues  distant  from  the  head  of  Machias  Bay. 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  Margaritta,  the  pur- 
suing party  were  without  any  organized  head.  But 
before  coming  up  with  the  enemy,  who  was  now  about 
three  miles  distant,  Jeremiah  O'Brion  was  unanimously 
chosen  captain.  On  taking  command,  his  first  exercise 
of  authority  was  to  give  permission  to  all  who  were 
afraid  to  follow  him  at  all  lengths  to  go  on  shore. 
Three  men,  who  had  blustered  the  most  when  on  the 
land,  availed  themselves  of  this  ofier,  and,  amid  the 

*  We  may  as  well  here  state  that  this  fact,  and  indeed  all  the  leading 

incidents  connected  with  our  story,  are  borrowed  from  a  paper  commu- 
nicated to  the  Maine  Historical  Society,  being  a  narrative  of  the  events 
of  that  period,  taken  doTvn  from  the  lips  of  John  O'Brion,  an  actor  in 
the  scenes,  who,  at  the  time  of  making  the  communication,  twenty-five 
years  ago,  resided  in  Brunswick,  at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty-one. 


3G0  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

ill-concealed  contempt  of  the  rest  of  tlie  crew,  took  to 
a  boat  alongside,  and  left  the  vessel. 

"Now,  my  brave  fellows,"  said  Captain  O'Brien, 
"  having  got  rid  of  those  white-livered  cowards,  our 
first  business  will  be  to  get  alongside  of  the  schooner 
yonder,  and  the  first  man  who  boards  her  shall  be 
entitled  to  the  palm  of  honor." 

By  the  aid  of  boats  towing  ahead  and  the  use  of 
sweeps,  the  sloop  was  soon  brought  alongside  of  the 
schooner,  but,  having  no  grappling  irons,  they  almost 
immediately  separated,  yet  not  before  John  O'Brion, 
who  stood  in  the  bows  of  the  sloop  ready  for  a  spring, 
had  leaped  upon  the  schooner's  deck.  On  looking 
around,  he  found  the  sloop  had  drifted  off  some 
twenty  or  thirty  yards,  leaving  him  standing  alone  on 
the  quarter-deck  of  the  enemy.  Before  he  had  much 
time  to  reflect  on  his  situation,  "  seven  of  the  English 
discharged  their  guns  at  him,  almost  at  the  same  mo- 
ment," but  not  a  ball  touched  him.  They  then  charged 
upon  him  with  their  bayonets,  when,  to  save  his  life, 
he  jumped  overboard,  and  swam  towards  the  sloop, 
and  soon  stood,  to  the  wonder  of  himself  as  well  as 
his  companions,  unharmed  on  her  deck. 

"  Brother  John,  you  have  won  the  palm ! "  said 
Jeremiah,  shaking  him  affectionately  by  the  hand. 
"  But  man  the  sweeps,  my  hearties,  and  lay  us  along- 
side once  more,  and  stand  ready  to  fasten  on  to  him 
when  you  reach  him." 

Twenty  men,  armed  with  pitchforks,  were  now 
selected  to  board  the  schooner,  and  when  the  vessels 
were  again  brought  in  contact,  amidst  a  fierce  dis- 
charge from  the  enemy,  they  rushed  over  the  schoon- 
er's side,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  crew.    A  sharp 


THE    LIBERTY   POLE.  361 

contest  ensued.  The  English  bravely  stood  their 
ground,  but  they  could  not  withstand  the  impetuous 
onset  of  the  Americans,  and,  after  a  spirited  struggle, 
they  were  forced  to  submit,  having  lost  about  ten 
killed  and  the  same  number  wounded.  Among  the 
latter  was  Captain  Moore,  who  in  the  early  part  of  the 
action  was  shot  through  with  a  brace  of  balls,  from 
the  effects  of  which  he  died  the  next  day,  "  much 
lamented."*  The  loss  of  the  Americans  was  four 
killed,  and  eight  or  nine  wounded. 

When  the  sloop  appeared  in  the  river,  with  the 
Margaritta  as  a  prize,  those  on  shore  were  perfectly 
wild  with  excitement.  Men,  women  and  children 
gathered  on  the  banks,  shouting  and  exhibiting  every 
demonstration  of  joy.  The  Liberty  Pole  was  deco- 
rated with  evergreens,  and  throughout  the  day,  and 
long  into  the  night,  might  be  heard  the  sounds  of  rev- 
elry and  rejoicing. 

As  a  mark  of  distinction  for  the  bravery  he  had  dis- 
played, the  Committee  of  Safety  appointed  John 
O'Brien  as  bearer  of  despatches  to  the  Provincial 
Congress  of  Massachusetts,  at  Watertown,  to  report 
what  had  been  done,  and  to  receive  directions  for  the 
future.  The  news  was  received  with  the  most  lively 
interest,  and  the  Congress  expressed  their  approba- 
tion of  the  conduct  of  the  people  of  Machias  in  the 
highest  terms,  and  passed  a  vote  of  thanks  to  the  indi- 
viduals concerned  in  the  battle,  f 

*  Captain  Moore  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  English  naval  officer 
•who  fell  in  the  American  Revolution. 

t  Cooper,  in  his  Nayal  History,  speaking  of  this  action,  says  :  **  This 
affair  was  the  Lexington  of  the  seas  ;  for,  like  that  celebrated  conflict,  it 
was  a  rising  of  the  people  against  a  regular  force  ;  was  characterized  by 
31 


362  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 


CHAPTER    y. 

If  the  news  of  the  capture  of  the  Margaritta  was 
received  with  a  lively  interest  at  the  head-quarters  of 
the  Provincial  Congress,  not  less  lively,  although  of  a 
different  nature,  was  the  excitement  caused  on  its 
reception  at  Nova  Scotia.  Two  schooners  were  im- 
mediately fitted  out  at  Halifax  for  the  purpose  of 
retaking  her.  These  vessels  were  called  the  Dili- 
gence and  Tapnaquish,  the  former  mounting  eight  or 
ten  guns,  with  a  crew  of  fifty  men,  the  latter  sixteen 
swivels,  with  a  crew  of  twenty  men. 

About  a  month  had  elapsed  after  taking  their  prize, 
when  the  people  of  Machias  were  notified  of  these 
vessels  coming  up  the  bay.  Instead  of  being  alarmed 
at  the  news,  preparations  were  immediately  made  to 
give  them  battle.  The  armament  was  taken  out  of 
the  Margaritta  and  placed  on  board  the  Liberty, 
which,  with  a  full  crew,  under  the  command  of  Jere- 
miah O'Brion,  proceeded  down  the  bay  to  meet  the 
enemy.  As  they  entered  the  bay  they  met  a  coaster 
coming  in,  which  they  took  possession  of,  placing 
thirty-five  men  on  board,  under  the  command  of  Colo- 
nel Foster. 

It  was  agreed  that  O'Brion  should  attack  the  Dili- 
gence and  Foster  the  Tapnaquish.  In  accordance 
with  this  arrangement,  they  bore  down  upon  tha 
enemy,  and  each  at  about  the  same  time  boarded. 
Five  minutes  were  not  required  to  settle  the  matter. 

t,  long  chase,  a  bloody  struggle,  and  a  triumph.  It  was  also  the  first 
blow  struck  on  the  water,  after  the  war  of  the  American  Revolution  had 
•JDtually  commenced." 


THE   LIBERTY   POLE.  363 

Botli  of  the  English  vessels  surrendered  at  the  first 
attempt  at  boarding  them,  without  making  the  least 
resistance.  On  his  return  with  his  prizes,  Captain 
O'Brion  fell  in  with  a  boat  containing  his  father  and  a 
surgeon,  whom  the  old  man  had  brought  off.  Happily 
there  was  no  occasion  for  his  services. 

The  news  of  this  second  capture  created  intense 
feehngs  at  Hahfax,  and,  to  wipe  off  the  stigma  of  for- 
mer defeats,  and  to  punish  the  authors  of  them,  in  the 
course  of  three  weeks  another  expedition  was  fitted 
out  from  that  place,  consisting  of  a  frigate,  a  twenty- 
gun  ship,  a  brig  of  sixteen  guns,  and  several  schoon- 
ers, containing  about  a  thousand  men. 

The  news  of  this  formidable  flotilla  being  on  the 
way  caused  not  a  little  apprehension  in  Machias,  and 
some  of  the  more  timid  advised  that  the  place  should 
be  abandoned.  This  proposition,  however,  was  imme- 
diately scouted,  and  the  O'Brions,  with  about  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  volunteers,  determined  to  resist  the  ap- 
proach of  the  enemy,  overwhelming  as  they  were  in 
numbers. 

About  three  miles  below  the  town,  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  river,  at  a  place  called  Scott's  Point,  a 
breastwork  was  hastily  thrown  up.  They  had  no  can- 
non to  defend  it ;  all  they  had  to  rely  on  were  common 
muskets. 

Hearing  that  the  fleet  was  coming  up  the  bay,  the 
brave  little  band,  under  the  command  of  Jeremiah 
O'Brion  and  Colonel  Foster,  took  up  the  line  of  march 
for  Scott's  Point,  resolved,  if  they  could  not  check  the 
advance  of  the  enemy,  they  would  pour  out  the  last 
drop  of  their  blood  in  the  attempt. 

All  the  inhabitants  had  gathered  in  the  vicinity  of 


S64  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

the  Liberty  Pole  to  see  them  start.  Mothers  and 
wives  were  there,  with  heavy  foreboding  hearts,  but 
there  was  no  shrinking  on  their  part,  —  no  urging  a 
son  or  a  husband  to  remain.  On  the  contrary,  strug- 
gling with  the  emotions  that  filled  their  breasts,  they 
exhorted  them  not  to  falter  in  their  duty,  and  without 
a  sign  of  weakness  bade  them  farewell.  Such  were 
the  women  of  the  Revolution. 

Soon  after  taking  possession  of  the  redoubt,  a  party 
of  observation  was  sent  out,  which  shortly  returned, 
bringing  intelligence  that  the  squadron  had  anchored 
in  the  bay,  with  the  exception  of  the  brig  and  a  num- 
ber of  boats,  filled  with  men,  which  were  advancing 
towards  the  town.  It  was  not  long  before  they  came 
in  sight,  and,  when  opposite  the  breastwork,  a  large 
body  of  men,  about  five  hundred,  landed. 

As  this  formidable  number  drew  up  on  the  banks, 
their  bright  arms  glistening  in  the  sun,  O'Brion  and 
Foster  made  their  preparations.  At  this  juncture 
Captain  O'Brion  addressed  his  men:  "You  see,  my 
lads,  what  you  have  got  to  contend  with.  The  odds 
are  greatly  against  us  ;  therefore,  if  there  is  one  man 
here  who  is  sick  of  his  bargain  and  wishes  to  leave, 
in  Heaven's  name  let  him  be  ojff !  " 

Not  a  man  moved  from  the  ranks. 

"  You  will  find  no  skulkers  this  time,"  said  a  voice 
from  the  centre. 

The  light  laugh  which  passed  through  the  ranks  at 
this  remark  was  the  best  proof  the  captain  could  have 
of  the  coolness  of  his  men.  It  gave  him  confidence 
in  their  stability. 

"  They  are  stirring,"  exclaimed  Colonel  Foster, 
pointing  towards  the  moving  mass,  coming  up  in  a 


THE  LIBERTY  POLE.  365 

compact  body.  "Be  careful,  men,  and  don't  waste  your 
powder,"  he  added.  "  Be  cool  and  steady,  select  youi 
man,  and  do  not  fire  until  the  word  is  given." 

The  Americans  were  drawn  up  in  double  rank; 
O'Brien  having  charge  of  the  front  and  Foster  of  the 
rear  division.  The  front  rank  were  to  deliver  their 
fire,  and  then  fall  back,  giving  place  to  the  rear  rank, 
while  the  former  reloaded,  the  second  rank  going 
through  the  same  manoeuvre. 

The  enemy  pressed  on  at  double  quick  time,  and 
seeing  the  small  number  opposed  to  them,  they  burst 
into  a  cheer  of  anticipated  triumph,  while  they  com- 
menced an  irregular  firing. 

"  Steady,  my  lads,  steady ! "  said  O'Brien,  as  the 
balls  began  to  whistle  around  them.  "Let  them  come 
a  little  nearer,  —  we  cannot  afford  to  throw  away 
powder." 

The  men  stood  firm  as  though  hewn  from  the  solid 
rock,  patiently  waiting  the  word.  At  last,  when  the 
English  had  arrived  within  one  hundred  feet  of  them, 
the  command  was  given.  A  sheet  of  flame  ran  along 
the  breastwork,  and,  as  the  leaden  shower  fell  among 
the  assailants,  a  terrible  gap  was  made  in  their  number. 

Immediately  as  the  report  of  the  first  volley  rang  in 
the  air,  the  stern  voice  of  Colonel  Foster  was  heard 
above  the  din :  "  Rear  rank,  advance !  Present ! 
Fire ! "  and  another  death-dealing  discharge  poured 
from  the  breastwork. 

In  spite  of  the  efforts  of  their  officers,  the  English 

broke  and  retreated  towards  the  bank  of  the  river. 

Here  after  a  while  they  succeeded  in  forming  them, 

and  again  they  advanced  towards  the  handful  of  men. 

31* 


366  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

But  this  time  no  triumphal  clieer  accompanied  their 
onset. 

On  this  occasion  the  assailants  rushed  on  at  a 
charge,  with  the  evident  intention  of  carrying  the 
breastwork  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Not  a  shot 
was  fired  until  they  arrived  within  point-blank  dis- 
tance, when  again  the  fiery  storm  was  hurled  upon 
them,  and  again  they  broke,  while  another  well- 
directed  volley  threw  them  into  perfect  disorder.  A 
general  rush  for  the  boats  immediately  ensued;  and, 
while  crowding  into  them,  the  Americans  left  their 
cover  and  poured  discharge  after  discharge  into  their 
disordered  ranks. 

During  the  action,  the  British  brig  had  caught 
aground  within  musket-shot  of  the  shore,  and,  when 
the  retreating  foe  had  gained  her  decks,  they  were  ex- 
posed to  and  experienced  severe  loss  from  the  Ameri- 
cans, who  continued  to  throw  their  fire  into  her  until 
she  floated  and  was  removed  down  the  river. 

In  this  battle  three  Americans  only  were  killed 
and  a  small  number  wounded,  while  the  killed  and 
wounded  of  the  British  amounted,  as  near  as  could 
be  ascertained,  to  one  hundred.  After  this  repulse 
the  Enghsh  did  not  make  a  second  attempt,  but,  has- 
tening to  get  their  wounded  on  board,  they  weighed 
anchor  and  stood  out  of  the  bay  on  their  return  to 
Halifax. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  joy  of  the  in- 
habitants of  Machias  at  the  unexpected  result  of  this 
battle.  They  had  made  up  their  minds  for  tH^worst, 
and  they  looked  upon  the  little  band  that  had  gone 
forth  to  cope  with  the  adversary  as  a  sort  oi  forlorn 
hope.    When  the  tidings  of  the  overwhelming  defeat 


THE  LIBERTY   POLE.  367 

of  the  enemy  reached  them,  they  could  scarcely  credit 
the  report ;  but  when  the  little  band  marched  back  to 
the  village,  with  apparently  undiminished  numbers, 
their  joy  knew  no  bounds. 

After  this  decided  repulse,  the  people  of  Machias 
rested  in  perfect  security,  feeling  confident  that  an- 
other attempt  at  invasion  would  not  be  made.  But 
they  were  mistaken.  About  six  weeks  after  this,  a 
third  expedition  left  Halifax,  and  landed  a  thousand 
men  at  Passamaquoddy,  with  the  intention  of  march- 
ing through  the  woods  and  attacking  Machias  by 
land. 

On  learning  the  fact,  the  people  again  mustered,  and 
preparations  were  again  made  to  waylay  and  resist 
the  enemy.  From  the  prowess  they  had  already 
exhibited,  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  would  for  the 
fourth  time  have  come  off  victors.  The  British,  how- 
ever, on  the  second  day  of  their  march,  meeting  with 
so  many  obstacles,  became  disheartened  and  retreated. 

After  this,  the  town  remained  unmolested.  The 
Liberty  Pole,  which  first  drew  on  them  the  ire  of  the 
British,  remained  a  long  time  standing,  a  cherished 
memento  of  their  unyielding  firmness  and  heroic 
bravery. 

We  cannot  close  our  story  without  alluding  to  the 
O'Brion  family,  whose  noble  patriotism  should  have 
immortalized  their  names. 

After  the  transactions  we  have  recorded,  the  Lib- 
erty and  Diligence  were  commissioned  by  the  State  of 
Massatjhusetts  and  sent  out  on  a  cruise.  Jeremiah 
O'Brion  commanded  the  former,  his  brother  William 
being  lieutenant.  Captain  Lambert  commanded  the 
latter,  with  John  O'Brion  for  first  lieutenant.      For 


368  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

two  years  they  did  good  service  on  the  northern 
coast,  affording  protection  to  our  navigation,  after 
which  they  were  laid  up.  After  this,  John  O'Brien, 
with  a  number  of  others,  built  at  Newburyport  an 
armed  ship,  letter  of  marque,  called  the  Hannibal, 
mounting  twenty  guns.  On  the  completion  of  one 
voyage,  she  was  fitted  out  as  a  cruiser,  manned  with 
one  hundred  and  thirty  men.  Unfortunately,  off  New 
York  she  fell  in  with  two  frigates,  and  after  a  chase 
of  forty-eight  hours  was  taken.  O'Brien  was  detained 
in  the  famous  guard-ship  Jersey  about  six  months,  suf- 
fering many  privations,  when  he  was  taken  to  Mill 
Prison,  England,  whence  he  escaped  after  a  number  of 
months'  confinement. 

His  brother,  in  the  mean  time,  was  not  idle.  He 
had  command  of  one  or  two  armed  vessels,  and  in 
a  number  of  successful  combats  did  the  State  good 
service,  and  proved  himself  worthy  the  name  which  he 
bore. 


THE   STORM  AT  SEA 


CHAPTER    I. 

The  day  was  almost  preternaturally  calm.  The 
Leavens  were  clear,  not  a  film  of  a  cloud  could  the 
eye  detect,  and  there  was  not  motion  enough  in  the 
atmosphere  to  flutter  the  lightest  leaf,  or  to  impel  the 
volatile  thistle-down,  so  sensitive  to  the  faintest 
breath ;  yet  a  heavy  ground-swell  vexed  the  sea,  and 
the  vaulting  billows  came  rolling  in  from  the  great 
deep,  breaking  with  an  unceasing  roar  on,  the  coast, 
and  deluging  its  rocky  ramparts  in  heavy  masses  of 
foam,  giving  the  whole  line  of  shore  the  appearance 
of  being  ridged  with  drifting  snow. 

The  stillness  that  brooded  in  the  atmosphere  con- 
trasted strangely  with  the  turbulence  of  the  ocean. 
There  was  no  apparent  cause  for  this  watery  tumult. 
There  had  been  no  recent  storm  to  provoke  it;  on  the 
contrary,  for  an  unusual  length  of  time,  the  weather 
had  been  remarkably  pleasant.  A  novice  on  the  sea- 
shore would  naturally  ask.  Why,  then,  this  strife  of  the 
waters,  this  oceanic  riot?  To  one  born  on  the  brink 
of  the  rough  Atlantic,  it  is  no  strange  sight,  although 
always  an  exciting  one.     Common  as  is  the  scene  to 

(369) 


370  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

US,  familiar  as  are  the  tones  of  the  lofty  anthem  of 
the  great  deep,  we  can  never  behold  the  one  or  listen 
to  the  other  without  experiencing  a  thrill  akin  to  awe, 
nay,  of  absolute  awe,  mingled  with  profound  reverence, 
when  we  reflect  on  the  terrible  power  of  the  raging 
sea,  and  the  might  and  majesty  of  Him  whose  slightest 
word  ^^  maketh  the  storm  a  calm,  so  that  the  waves 
thereof  are  still." 

The  present  agitation  of  the  ocean  was  the  effect 
of  some  distant  storm  at  sea.  The  heavy  ground- 
swell  was  what  is  cahed  in  nautical  parlance  an  "  old 
sea,"  the  undulations  not  being  so  rapid  and  violent, 
nor  the  ocean  wearing  such  an  angry  aspect,  as  during 
a  storm.  The  huge  billows  came  heaving  in  from  the 
outer  deep,  formidable  in  size,  it  is  true,  but  with  a  sort 
of  tired  motion,  as  if  in  the  storm-struggle  they  had 
spent  their  fiercest  energy.     They  did  not, 

**  With  all  their  "white  crests  dancing. 
Come  like  thick-plumed  squadrons  to  the  shore 
Gallantly  bounding," 

but  more  like  battalions  from  the  field  after  a  desper- 
ate and  exhausting  fight,  —  until  just  as  they  reached 
the  shore,  when,  gathering  themselves  as  it  were  for 
a  final  charge,  they  leaped  forward,  with  a  hoarse 
shout,  and  dissolved  in  foam. 

On  a  high,  rugged  clifi",  that  jutted  boldly  out  from 
the  main  land,  against  which  the  billows  surged  with 
fearful  violence,  clothing,  with  each  assault,  its  steep 
front  nearly  to  the  summit  with  a  mantle  of  spray, 
stood  two  females,  gazing  intently  into  the  ofiing. 
The  eldest  might  have  been  fifty  years  of  age,  although 
exposure  to  wind  and  sun,  superadded  perhaps  to  toil 


THE  STORM  AT  SEA.  371 

and  care,  gave  her  the  appearance  of  a  more  advanced 
age.  The  younger  had  just  entered  the  bloom  of 
womanhood.  She  was  not  what  is  called  beautiful, 
but  she  possessed  one  of  those  good  countenances, 
which  is  far  more  attractive  than  mere  beauty.  But 
a  cloud  of  sorrow  now  rested  on  that  sweet  face, 
which  seemed  only  made  for  smiles  and  sunny  looks. 

With  their  aprons  twisted  not  ungracefully  over  the 
backs  of  their  necks  and  heads  as  a  covering,  the  two 
stood  for  some  moments  in  silence,  their  eyes  wander- 
ing restlessly  over  the  broad  expanse  of  waters,  as  if 
in  search  of  an  expected  object. 

The  youngest  first  broke  the  silence.  "  There  is  no 
sail  in  sight."  And  a  desponding  sigh  followed  the 
sadly-uttered  words. 

"What  is  that?"  exclaimed  the  elder.  "Look  yon- 
der, Maggie  (your  eyes  are  better  than  mine),  there, 
just  over  Bulwark  Rock,  —  is  not  that  a  sail?" 

For  a  minute  the  glance  of  the  young  woman  was 
riveted  in  the  direction  pointed  out,  when  she  an- 
swered, in  the  same  tone  in  which  she  had  first  spoken : 
"  No,  mother,  it  is  but  the  combing  of  a  wave  over  the 
sunken  ledge.  God  help  me  !  I  am  afraid  that  we  shall 
never  see  him  again." 

"  God  help  Mm,  and  restore  him  safely  to  our 
arms,"  responded  the  mother,  in  a  more  hopeful  tone. 
"  Cheer  up,  my  daughter,  and  put  your  trust  in  One 
who  is  mighty  to  save,  and  who  will  not  willingly  afflict 
and  grieve  us." 

"  It  is  sinful,  I  know,  mother ;  but,  when  I  think  of 
the  many  widowed  hearts,  the  childless  mothers,  and 
fatherless  children,  which  the  late  dreadful  storm  has 
made,  I  am  almost  led   to  doubt  His  goodness  and 


372  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

mercy,  and  to  ask,  why  did  He  permit  this  great  af- 
iiiction?" 

"  Husli,  hush,  mj  dear  daughter,  and  do  not  give 
way  to  such  thoughts.  Would  you  arraign  your 
Maker?  Shall  a  humble  worm  of  the  dust  question 
the  wisdom  of  his  decrees  ?  0,  my  child,  trust  in  the 
Lord.  Yea,  Maggie,"  she  repeated,  in  a  solemnly  em- 
phatic tone,  "  though  he  slay  thee,  still  trust  in  the 
Lord,  and  all  will  be  well  with  thee."  And,  with  this 
pious  admonition,  she  turned,  and  with  her  companion 
sought  their  humble  dwelling. 

Good  cause  had  that  young  heart  to  be  weighed 
down.  The  heavy  burden  of  fears  that  rested  upon  it 
was  well  grounded,  and  the  booming  of  the  waves 
might  well  sound  to  her  ears  as  a  funeral  knell.  She 
had  waited  and  watched,  day  aftef  day,  for  the  return 
of  her  husband  and  the  father  o{  her  babe,  until  her 
heart  grew  sick  with  hope  deferred.  Tidings  had  re- 
cently reached  her  of  a  terrific  gale  at  the  eastward, 
and  of  the  wreck  of  a  large  fishing  fleet.  Rumor,  it 
is  true,  had  magnified  the  extent  of  ruin  wrought,  but 
it  was  ascertained  that  nearly  a  hundred  sail  had  been 
lost,  and  that  in  many  instances  not  one  of  the  crew 
was  saved.  Every  day  came  fresh  reports  of  the  coast 
being  strewed  with  wrecks,  and  of  the  washing  ashore 
of  dead  bodies.* 

Among  that  fleet  was  the  vessel  in  which  was  her 
husband.  Nothing  had  been  heard  from  him  since  the 
gale.  In  the  list  of  vessels  lost  and  of  those  that  rode 
out  the  storm  in  safety,  the  name  of  the  "  Curlew " 
was  not  mentioned.     She  was  reported  among   the 

iS^This  was  written  in  1851,  and  the  gale  referred  to  occurred  in  the 
Bay  of  Chaleur 


THE  STORM   AT  SEA.  373 

missing.  "  Missing !  "  what  a  terrible  import  had  that 
simple  word  to  many  an  anxious  heart;  how  pregnant 
with  sickening  hopes,  with  prostrating  fears.  The 
dread  certainty  that  the  worst  had  befallen  her  hus- 
band could  not  have  filled  the  heart  of  the  young  wife 
with  intenser  misery.  The  torture  of  suspense,  the 
conflict  of  hopes  and  fears,  agonized  her  more  than 
would  have  the  knowledge  of  her  loss.  In  the  latter 
case  she  would  have  bowed  in  resignation  to  ihe  tem- 
pest of  sorrow;  as  it  was,  she  stood  up  distractedly 
amid  the  storm,  struggling  piteously  against  its  vio- 
lence. 


CHAPTER    II. 

That  evening,  as  the  mother  bent  in  silent  agony 
over  her  sleeping  babe,  there  came  to  her  a  vision  of 
the  absent  one.  Her  mind  went  back  to  the  day  of  his 
departure.     This  is  what  she  recalled  i 

It  was  a  beautiful  autumnal  morning.  The  heavens 
were  unstained  by  a  cloud ;  the  sea  sparkled  in  the 
bright  sunlight ;  the  breeze  was  fair,  and  every  auspice 
favorable.  The  "  Curlew,"  a  fine  new  fishing-smack, 
floated  gracefully  in  the  waters  of  the  cove,  everything 
about  her  looking  neat  and  trig  as  the  youthful  skipper 
and  owner,  who  bustled  about,  buoyant  with  life  and 
activity,  making  preparations  for  the  voyage. 

A  fine  specimen  of  manly  beauty  was  the  young 
fisherman,  Henry  Stanwood.  He  was  of  middling 
height,  well  proportioned,  and  his  countenance  bore 
an  expression  of  quick  intelligence  and  an  amiable 


374  FOREST   AND   SHORF. 

disposition.  How  tlie  young  wife's  heart  beat  as  she 
watched  the  cheerful  smile  so  rarely  absent  from  his 
face,  and  read  in  his  beaming  glance  a  depth  of  affec- 
tion answering  to  her  own,  while  his  cheery,  sonorous 
voice,  softened  to  love's  cadence  when  addressing  her, 
thrilled  her  with  a  strange  delight. 

In  the  hurry  of  preparation,  young  Stanwood  found 
frequent  opportunities  to  bestow  all  these  on  his  wife, 
who  watched  his  work  with  a  sadness  which  she  vainly 
endeavored  to  conceal.  Why  was  it  ?  She  had  fre- 
quently seen  him  depart  before  without  experiencing 
such  depth  of  feeling.  Was  this  unwonted  reluctance 
to  part  with  him  a  foreboding  of  evil?  No,  this  was 
not  its  nature.  The  babe  which  she  bore  in  her  arms 
had  riveted  her  heart  more  closely  to  her  husband, 
had  opened  new  and  deeper  fountains  of  affection. 
This  it  was  that  saddened  her.  It  was  in  part  sympa- 
thetic sadness.  New  ties,  new  chords  of  love,  had 
been  thrown  around  the  heart  of  her  husband  to  bind 
it  more  closely  to  his  home.  The  little  outstretched 
arms  of  their  first-born  she  knew  were  tugging  be- 
seechingly at  his  heart-strings  ;  and  she  shared  with 
him  the  double  pain  of  separation.  Her  regrets  were 
as  much  for  him  as  for  herself.  Does  not  the  young 
mother  sympathize  with  and  appreciate  these  feelings  ? 

The  hours  flew  by ;  the  work  of  preparation  was 
finished ;  the  stores  were  on  board ;  everything  was 
stowed  away,  and  the  white  sails,  and  the  weather- 
vane,  the  work  of  her  own  hands,  were  flapping  and 
fluttering  in  the  breeze,  beckoning  the  skipper  on 
board. 

They  all  stood  on  the  beach  —  Mrs.  Stanwood,  the 
widowed  mother,  the  young  wife,  and  husband,  the 


THE   STORM   AT   SEA.  375 

latter  folding  to  his  heart  the  little  nestling,  as  if  he 
would  hide  it  there  forever.  It  was  one  of  those 
moments  when  language  fails  to  express  the  emotions 
of  the  overcharged  heart,  whose  only  interpreters  are 
the  heaving  breast  and  the  speaking  countenance. 

"  Take  good  care  of  yourself  while  I  am  gone,  dear 
Margaret,''  at  last  said  the  young  skipper,  breaking  the 
silence;  and,  placing  the  babe  in  the  bosom  of  its 
mother,  he  folded  the  twain  in  a  fond  embrace.  "  Good- 
bye, mother.  I  shall  be  back  in  a  few  weeks,  and 
then  no  more  of  the«e  sad  partings  for  this  season, 
for  this  will  be  my  last  cruise.  Come,  cheer  up, 
Maggie,''  he  continued,  with  assumed  gayety.  "It 
is  better  to  part  with  a  smile  than  a  tear.  Good-bye, 
and  God  bless  you !  "  And,  snatching  a  kiss  from 
mother  and  child  in  the  same  moment,  he  hurried  on 
board  of  the  boat  and  soon  gained  the  deck  of  the 
vessel,  which,  in  a  short  time,  with  a  favoring  breeze, 
and  under  full  press  of  sail,  stood  out  to  sea.  A  silent 
wave  of  the  hand  was  the  parting  token  of  the  3'oung 
captain  to  those  on  shore,  as  an  intervening  cliff  shut 
the  vessel  from  sight. 

Long  did  the  unhappy  wife  linger  on  that  sad,  and, 
as  she  now  felt,  final  parting.  Slowly  in  thought  she 
went  over  the  incidents  of  the  day.  She  busied  her- 
self over  the  chest  of  her  husband,  arranging  his 
clothing,  and  seeing  that  nothing  was  lacking ;  she 
stored  therein  a  few  articles  without  his  knowledge 
which  she  thought  would  be  luxuries  at  sea.  She 
tasked  herself  in  every  way  to  insure  his  comfort. 
Then  came  the  hour  of  departure.  She  stood  again 
on  the  beach ;  she  heard  his  parting  words ;  she  felt 
the  pressure  of  his  embrace,  the  impress  of  his  warm 


37G  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

kiss  ;  she  saw  him  on  board  of  the  vessel,  she  caught 
the  last  wave  of  his  hand,  and  the  vision  vanished. 
Then  followed  the  dreary  first  evening,  then  the  suc- 
cession of  weeks,  then  the  tidings  of  storm  and  disas- 
ter. She  lived  it  all  over  again  up  to  the  present 
hour,  when  hope  had  well-nigh  perished,  and  despair 
was  brooding  over  her  soul.  Starting  from  this  retro- 
spect as  from  a  dream,  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
heart  as  if  she  would  force  down  some  feeling  too 
agonizing  for  endurance.  • 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  she  sat  in  the  gloom 
of  twilight,  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  breakers,  which 
sounded  more  loudly  as  the  night  deepened.  It 
seemed  to  mock  her  grief.  Those  merciless  waves 
which  had  engulfed  the  whole  wealth  of  her  afiections, 
which  had  made  wreck  of  her  entire  freight  of  happi- 
ness, now  came,  with  their  hoarse  shout  of  triumph, 
exulting  in  the  ruin  that  they  had  wrought.  Often 
ere  this  had  she  listened,  with  heart  all  astir,  to  the 
grand  music  of  these  same  tramping  billows,  which 
now  crushed  her  with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  deso- 
lation. Ah,  many  a  sad  evening  like  this  had  the 
mourning  one  passed  I 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  aged  mother  seemed  to  forget  her  own  sorrow 
in  the  endeavor  to  cheer  and  sustain  the  heart  of  her 
son's  wife.  In  conversing  with  her  she  always  spoke 
hopefully  of  his  return.  His  vessel  might  have  been 
driven  on  some  island  remotd  from  the  main  land,  and 


THE   STORM   AT   SEA.  377 

from  which  no  tidings  as  yet  had  been  received ;  or 
she  might  have  been  dismasted  at  sea,  and  thus  pre- 
vented from  reaching  the  shore.  But  as  day  after  day 
passed  by,  bringing  no  news  of  the  missing  one,  she, 
too,  began  to  betray  the  despondency  which  from  the 
first  had  burdened  her  soul,  but  which  she  had  stu- 
diously concealed  from  her  daughter.  In  her  privacy 
her  heart  was  bowed  down  with  grief,  for  Henry  was 
her  sole  rem'aining  child,  her  youngest  born,  and  the 
only  tie  that  bound  her  to  earth.  Yet,  though  her 
sorrow  was  great,  her  anguish  was  not  so  keen  as 
Margaret's. 

The  elder  Mrs.  Stanwood  had  been  disciplined  by 
trials.  She  had  passed  through  the  furnace  of  afflic- 
tion, which,  if  it  had  not  blunted  her  sensibilities,  had 
taught  her  resignation.  It  had  given  her  a  more 
realizing  sense  of  the  uncertainty  of  life  and  the 
transitoriness  of  human  happiness,  in  a  word,  it  had 
loosened  her  hold  on  earth,  and  fastened  her  hopes 
and  aspirations  on  a  higher  and  better  state  of  exist- 
ence. Therefore  the  cup  now  presented  to  her  lips 
Jiad  lost  some  of  its  poignancy,  because  she  had  often 
been  compelled  to  drink  from  it ;  but  to  the  young 
wife  it  was  drugged  to  its  very  depths  with  the  gall 
of  bitterness. 

This  was  Margaret's  first  affliction ;  for,  though  an 
orphan,  her  parents  had  died  when  she  was  too  young 
to  feel  their  loss.  It  may  be  from  this  very  cause,  the 
early  loss  of  her  parents,  that  she  experienced  the 
present  intensity  of  grief  She  had  grown  up  from 
childhood  a  stranger  to  those  gentle  afiections  which 
the  young  heart  craves.  Her  aunt,  who  adopted  her, 
was  an  austere  woman,  with  a  really  kind  heart,  if  one 
32^ 


378  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

could  -but  find  one's  way  to  it,  but  whose  forbidding 
manner  checked  those  eifasions  of  childish  love  in 
which  the  youthful  heart  dehghts  to  indulge.  Thus 
she  grew  up  to  womanhood  amid  chilling  influences, 
although  her  heart  beat  with  kindly  impulses ;  and 
thus  it  came  to  pass,  when  one  was  presented  to  her 
whom  she  might  love, —  one  who  courted  her  love, — 
that  she  lavished  all  her  hoarded  affections  upon  him. 
Never  did  wife  bestow  upon  husband  a  richer  dowry 
of  love  than  did  Margaret  Newton  on  Henry  Stan- 
wood,  and  never  was  that  sacred  deposit  entrusted  to 
worthier  keeping.  Their  very  existences  seemed 
bound  in  each  other,  and  hence  the  acuteness  of  that 
sorrow  which  now  wasted  the  heart  of  the  young 
wife. 

I  would  not  undertake  to  say  how  far  the  effects  of 
this  grief  might  extend.  To  one  of  Margaret's  pecu- 
liar organization,  with  susceptibilities  so  alive  to  the 
tender  passion,  the  sudden  shattering  of  an  idolized 
object  of  worship  too  often  scathes,  as  with  a  light- 
ning stroke,  the  devotee.  Love  thus  suddenly  checked 
worketh  like  madness  on  the  brain,  and  its  subject 
thenceforward  is  reduced  to  that  most  pitiful  of  all 
states,  a  "  wreck  at  random  driven." 

Margaret  was  fast  verging  towards  this  deplorable 
condition.  On  that  dismal  evening,  when  she  sat 
alone  with  her  child  in  the  gathering  gloom,  the  sul- 
len waves  mocking  her,  in  the  paroxysms  of  her  grief 
her  reason  tottered.  She  was  like  one  walking  bewil- 
dered on  awful  heights,  along  the  dizzy  brinks  of 
precipices,  reckless  of  the  fearful  abysses  that  yawned 
beneath  her,  nay,  feeling  an  almost  irresistible  desire 
io  plunge  into  their  terrible  depths.     What  prevented 


THE  STOEM  AT  SEA.  379 

her?  What  but  that  one  tiny  hand  withheld  her? 
The  outstretched  arm  of  her  nurshng  interposed  to 
save  her,  and  its  feeble  cry  caused  an  entire  revul- 
sion of  feeHng,  restoring,  in  a  measure,  the  equihb- 
rium  of  her  reeling  brain.  Like  the  ancient  Voice, 
whose  "  Peace,  be  still !  "  rebuked  the  troubled  sea,  so 
did  that  infantile  plaint  quell  the  raging  billows  of  her 
soul.  She  felt  that,  though  clouds  of  wrath  had  gath- 
ered about  her,  and  the  very  blackness  of  darkness 
brooded  over  her  future,  yet  earth  still  had  ties  to 
bind  her  to  it,  —  that  life  was  not  wholly  valueless. 
That  feeble  wail  seemed  to  reproach  her  selfish  sor- 
row, seemed  to  plead  for  that  existence  of  which 
she  had  grown  so  weary. 

"  No,  my  poor  fatherless  one  I  '^  she  exclaimed, 
pressing  the  little  one  with  passionate  fervor  to  her 
breast,  "  I  will  not  leave  you  as  I  was  left  I  For  your 
sake  I  will  struggle  to  sustain  this  weight  of  woe ! 
God  help  me,  —  it  is  a  sore  one  to  bear  !  " 

"  And  God  will  help  you,  my  dear  child  I "  said  the 
aged  mother,  who  had  entered  unperceived.  "  He  is 
a  very  present  help  in  time  of  need.  Once  and  again 
have  I  said,  and  again  do  I  say,"  she  continued,  in  a 
voice  tremulous  with  emotion,  " '  The  Lord  gave,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away;  blessed  be  the  name  of 
the  Lord ! ' "  and,  folding  the  disconsolate  one  in  an 
affectionate  embrace,  the  tears  of  the  mother  mingled 
with  those  of  the  daughter. 

Magic  potency  of  tears  !  whose  sparkling  flow  sheds 
a  reflex  light  upon  the  darkened  soul,  and  rids  the 
heart  of  that  "  perilous  stuff,"  which  saps  the  mind's 
strength,  and  poisons  the  springs  of  life  1  The  mother 
had  often  shed  them  in  secret,  but  to  Margaret  they 


380  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

had  been  denied.  Her  great  grief  had  lain  like  a 
stone  on  the  fountain  of  tears,  and  her  overburdened 
heart  was  well-nigh  shattered  by  the  pressure ;  but 
now  that  the  stone  was  rolled  away,  giving  vent  to 
her  pent  feelings,  she  experienced  a  very  perceptible 
sense  of  relief;  the  fever  of  her  brain  was  assuaged, 
the  blinding  mists  that  enveloped  her  mind  were  dis- 
solved, and  reason  again  resumed  its  sway.  She  had 
reached  that  fearful  point  when  her  whole  mental 
organization  hung  in  the  balance.  A  straw  would 
have  overturned  it.  That  tiny  hand  of  her  babe, 
nesthng  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  touched  the  secret 
spring  of  feeling.  Nature  asserted  her  rights.  The 
noble  temple  which  had  been  racked  as  with  the  throes 
of  an  earthquake  again  became  stationary,  as  the  lava- 
flood  gushed  forth  in  a  burning,  impetuous  torrent. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Thenceforward  the  life  of  Margaret  was  marked 
by  a  calm  resignation.  She  had  her  seasons  of  de- 
spondency, when  she  would  gladly  have  laid  down  her 
burden  and  sought  rest  in  the  grave ;  but  she  strug- 
gled to  overcome  these  prostrating  feelings,  and  nobly 
sustained  herself  under  her  trials.  The  whole  aspect 
of  the  world,  however,  had  become  changed  to  her. 
She  took  no  pleasure  in  her  former  favorite  haunts. 
The  shady  grove,  whither  she  was  wont  to  resort^ 
seemed  clothed  now  in  deep,  funereal  gloom.  Par- 
ticularly at  this  season  was  it  sad  to  her,  when  the 
fallen  and  faded  leaf  reminded  her  so  constantly  of 


THE  STORM   AT  SEA.  381 

her  own  withered  hopes.  The  heart  untouched  by 
sorrow  cannot  view  these  emblems  of  a  dying  year 
without  melancholy  emotions ;  how  much  greater  in- 
fluence, then,  must  this  scene  exert  on  one  rendered 
painfully  sensitive  by  a  recent  affliction.  From  her 
sea-shore  rambles,  too,  she  always  returned  with  a 
deeper  cloud  upon  her  brow.  The  gleesome  music 
of  the  waves  now  came  to  her  ears  with  a  mournful 
cadence,  and  the  glittering  spray,  which  to  the  undim- 
med  eye  presents  forms  of  exquisite  grace  and  beauty, 
to  her  tearful  vision  bore  the  likeness  of  cold  and 
ghastly  shrouds.  Although  calmly  resigned  to  her 
fate,  she  could  not  shake  off  this  morbid  state  of  mind. 
Notwithstanding  the  sound  and  sight  of  the  sea 
awoke  in  Margaret  the  most  gloomy  associations,  she 
felt  an  irresistible  impulse  to  be  by  the  seaside ;  and 
often,  on  the  calm  moonlight  evenings  which  then  pre- 
vailed, she  would  ramble  away  for  hours,  lingering 
on  the  hard,  sandy  cove,  listlessly  watching  the  heavy 
rollers  as  they  came  breaking  in  foam  at  her  feet ;  or 
traversing  the  rocky  coast,  now  standing  on  the  brink 
of  some  dark,  gaping  chasm,  and  now  gazing  on  the 
splintered  rocks  and  black  ledges,  at  one  moment 
deluged  with  spray,  at  the  next  left  bare  by  the  re- 
ceding wave.  More  often  she  would  seat  herself  on 
some  prominent  cliff,  and  gaze  earnestly  into  the 
offing.  Sometimes  a  solitary  sail  would  slowly  cross 
the  rays  of  the  moon,  which,  reflected  in  the  placid 
waters,  stretched  like  a  path  of  light  along  the  ocean; 
or  for  a  moment  would  suddenly  appear  in  the  little 
sparkling  patches  that  glimmered  here  and  there,  then 
phantom-like  vanish  from  sight.  Ah  I  what  deep,  in- 
tense   yearnings,    what    vague,    momentary-thrilling 


382  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

"hopes  wbuld  those  transient  glimpses  awaken  in  her 
breast,  followed  by  pangs  of  keenest  anguish,  as  the 
shadowy  "isail  receded  from  her  strained  sight,  to  be 
seen  no  more. 

Depressing  as  was  the  effect  of  these  lonely  rambles 
on  her  spirits,  and  well  aware  as  Margaret  was  that 
her  indulgence  in  them  only  served  to  feed  her  grief, 
yet  there  was  something  in  the  brooding  stillness  of 
the  night,  sctfnething  in  the  solitude  of  those  cavern- 
ous rocks,  something  in  the  profound  tranquillity  of 
the  injSnitude  of  ocean,  that  won  her  steps  abroad. 

On  pne  of  these  excursions,  tempted  by  the  splendor 
of  the  &ight,  she  had  remained  out  longer  than  usual. 
Th^  'moon  was  at  her  full,  and  flooded  the  whole  visi- 
ble expanse  of  ocean  with  her  beams.  There  was  a 
slight  in-shore  breez'e^  a  faint  fanning  of  the  air,  not 
enough  to  create  a  ripple.  Far  off  at  sea  the  eye  could 
dimly  descry  a  sifiall  vessel  heading  toward  the  shore, 
but  so  light  was  the  wind  it  appeared  to  be  stationary. 

For  a  long  time,  motionless  as  a  statue,  Margaret 
had  stood,  her  gaze  fixed  tpon  the  vessel.  So  ab- 
sorbed was  she  in  thought,  she  did  not  notice  the 
approach  of  her  mother,  who,  uneasy  at  her  prolonged 
absence,  bad  come  out  in  search  of  her ;  nor  was  she 
aware  of  her  presence  until  her  voice  aroused  her. 

"  Come,  my  child,"  said  the  aged  matron,  "  the  dew 
is  falling,  and  the  sea  air  comes  chillingly  in;  let  us  go 
hom^." 

^'  Look  yonder,  mother,"  said  Margaret,  pointing  to 
the  distant  sail  ^  "  there  are  happy  hearts  on  board 
that  vessel,  anticipating  the  joys  that  await  them,  and 
there  are  happy  hearts  on  shore,  eager  to  welcome 
them  to  their  embraces." 


nbm( 


THE  STORM   AT  SEA.  383 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  daughter,"  said  the  mother,  in  an  agi- 
tated voice,  divining  the  thoughts  of  her  young  com- 
panion; "let  us  pray  that  their  joys  may  soon  be 
reahzed." 

"  God  grant  it.  But,  alas,  mother,  no  such  joy  awaits 
us,  no  such  prayer  will  avail  us.  I  have  been  think- 
ing, mother,  how  often  I  have  here  awaited  the  return 
of  Henry,  and  how  I  have  impatiently  watched  his 
approaching  sail,  as  I  have  been  watching  yonder  ves- 
sel, and  how  my  heart  has  leaped  as  I  heard  his  cheer- 
ful voice  swelling  over  the  sea,  as  just  now  a  joyful 
shout  came  on  the  air." 

"  0,  my  daughter,"  said  the  mother,  tears  nearly 
choking  her  utterance,  "you  know  not  the  wounds  you 
have  opened.  Often  and  often  have  I,  too,  waited  for" 
Henry's  father  in  this  manner;  often  from  this  spot 
given  him  the  joyful  welcome  home.  But  there  came 
a  time,  Margaret,  when  I  waited  in  vain.  In  storm 
and  in  calm,  at  early  morn  and  late  at  night,  1  watched 
for  him,  but  he  came  not ;  and  only  when  the  sea  shall 
give  up  its  dead  shall  we  meet  again  I "  and,  bowing 
her  head  on  the  shoulder  of  her  daughter,  tj^e  aged 
mother  gave  free  vent  to  her  feelings. 

"Mother,  dear  mother,  do  not  weep!"  exclainied 
Margaret,  in  a  broken  voice,  folding  her  arm  around 
the  aged  form  of  the  matron,  striving  to  act  the  com- 
forter, although  her  own  tears  flowed  freely.  "  I  have 
been  too»selfish;  I  have  thought  only  of  my  own 
sorrow,  and  have  leaned  on  you  in  my  affliction, 
when  I  should  have  sustained  you.  Do  not  weep, 
mother." 

"  Lean  on  me  still,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Stanwood, 
lifting  her  head  and  somewhat  recovering  herself.   "  I 


384  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

am  but  a  poor  bruised  reed,  but  God  in  his  infinite 
mercy  has  upheld  and  will  continue  to  sustain  me. 
Look  to  him,  Margaret,"  she  continued,  in  a  voice 
already  rendered  firm,  "and  all  will  be  well.  The 
night  of  our  sorrow  will  soon  be  over.  Let  us 
rejoice  with  the  Psalmist,  where  he  says,  ^  Weeping 
may  endure  for  a  nighty  hut  joy  cometli  in  the  morn- 
ing.^ " 

With  these  and  other  comforting  words,  the  stricken 
ones  retraced  their  steps  homeward. 


CHAPTER   V. 

^^  Joy  cometli  in  the  morning ^^  —  prophetic  words! 

The  chapter  from  the  inspired  volume  had  been 
read ;  the  lowly  prayer,  the  incense  of  humble  hearts, 
had  ascended  to  the  throne  of  God;  the  light  had 
vanished  from  the  casement  of  the  fisher's  dwelling; 
and  the  sister  angel  of  Death,  Sleep,  had  sealed  the 
eyes  of  the  mourning  ones. 

Slowly  over  the  gently-heaving  sea  came  that  soli- 
tary vessel  whose  appearance  had  awakened  such 
painful  emotions.  Slowly  but  steadfastly  she  headed 
for  the  little  inlet,  an'd,  just  as  the  early  dawn  flickered 
in  the  east,  she  reached  the  haven,  and  noiselessly 
dropped  her  anchor.  In  a  short  time  her  sails  were 
lowered  and  furled,  and  presently  a  boat  left  her  side, 
propelled  by  a  single  oarsman. 

That  safely-moored  vessel  was  the  "  Curlew,"  and 
that  oarsman  was  the  long-mourned  Henry  Stanwood. 
In  the  terrible  gale  which  had  proved  so  disastrous 


THE   STORM    AT    SEA.  385 

to  others  he  had  been  dismasted,  and  for  many  days 
had  been  tossed  about  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves. 
Without  the  means  of  rigging  a  jury-mast,  after  the  galo 
had  subsided,  he  had  drifted  hither  and  thither,  until 
at  last  he  succeeded  in  reaching  a  small  island  remota 
from  the  main  land.  Here,  after  much  delay,  and  with 
considerable  difficulty,  he  succeeded  in  procuring  new 
masts,  and,  having  spare  tackle  on  board,  he  soon  had 
them  rigged.  This  done,  he  started  homeward,  stop- 
ping just  long  enough  in  a  by-port  to  obtain  cable 
and  anchors  to  replace  those  he  had  lost.  A  succes- 
sion of  calms  retarded  his  voyage.  His  anxiety  to 
reach  home  may  be  imagined,  when  he  learned  from  a 
vessel  which  he  fell  in  with  that  the  "  Curlew  "  had 
long  been  given  up  as  lost.  He  pictured  to  himself 
the  agony  which  Margaret  must  endure.  Knowing 
the  depth  of  her  affection,  he  too  well  knew' what  her 
sufferings  must  be.  He  greatly  feared  the  effect  of 
her  sudden  grief,  and  tortured  himself  with  a  thousand 
apprehensions.  If  impatient  sighs  could  have  filled 
his  sails  and  propelled  his  vessel,  he  would  have  made 
a  short  passage. 

But  at  last  he  drew  near  the  wished-for  spot,  and, 
catching  a  distant  sight  of  the  headland  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  cove,  he  could  not  repress  a  shout  of 
joy.  That  was  the  longest  night  of  his  life  in  which 
he  slowly  crept  toward  the  shore.  When  at  last  he 
reached  his  anchorage,  and  had  flung  himself  into  the 
yawl,  impatient  to  reach  the  shore,  he  bethought  him 
that  sudden  joy  was  often  as  fatal  as  sudden  grief,  and 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  proceeding  cautiously. 

Walking  hastily  up  to  the  house,  he  tapped  gently 
on  the  low  window  of  the  room  in  which  he  knew  his 
33 


386  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

mother  slept.  The  summons  was  not  answered,  and, 
fearing  he  knew  not  what,  he  rapped  again  with  more 
force.  "With  a  beating  heart  he  heard  the  movement 
of  one  within,  and  he  stepped  aside  in  the  shade  of 
the  building.  Presently  the  window  opened,  and  his 
mother's  form  bent  over  the  sill.  He  could  scarcely 
refrain  from  springing  to  her  embrace  ;  but,  command- 
ing himself,  he  spoke,  in  a  low,  altered  voice :  "  I  have 
ventured  to  arouse  you  thus  early.  Widow  Stanwood, 
believing  the  bearer  of  good  news " 

"  Of  good  news  ! "  exclaimed  the  widow,  interrupting 
him.     "  Then  it  is  of  Henry.     0  tell  me,  is  he  alive  ?  '^ 

"  Both  alive  and  well." 

"  Where,  sir,  is  he  ?  "  she  continued,  in  an  agitated 
voice. 

"  Here,  dear  mother,  here  in  your  arms ! "  said 
Henry,  no  longer  able  to  contain  himself,  springing  as 
he  spoke  into  her  embrace. 

Pressing  him  convulsively  to  her  breast,  the  aged 
woman  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and,  in  a  tone  of 
solemn  fervor,  exclaimed :  "  Almighty  God,  I  thank 
thee  I  For  this  my  son  ivas  dead,  and  is  alive  again ;  he 
was  lost,  and  is  found J^ 

That  meeting  in  the  dim  night-air,  —  the  mother  sud- 
denly aroused  from  her  sleep  to  fold  in  her  arms  the 
long-mourned  son,  that  passionate  embrace,  that  fer- 
vent outpouring  of  thanks,  —  0,  it  was  a  scene  over 
which  angels  might  shed  tears  of  joy. 

Henry  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  He  could 
utter  but  one  word,  which  was  pronounced  in  an  in- 
quiring tone,  as  if  dreading  the  answer.  "  Mar- 
garet?" 

"  She  is  well,  my  ddar  son.     But  I  fear  tliis  happi- 


THE   STORM    AT   SEA.  38T 

ness  will  be  too  much  for  lier,  for  it  has  almost  been 
more  than  your  aged  mother  can  bear."  And  she 
again  strained  her  son  to  her  bosom,  while  the  warn: 
tears  fell  on  him  hke  summer  rain-drops.  '^  But  come 
within  the  house,  Henry.  Come  in  the  back  entrance 
and  step  hghtly.  I  must  prepare  her  for  what  is  to 
come."  And,  closing  the  window,  with  trembling 
haste  she  lighted  a  lamp,  arranged  her  dress,  and  ad- 
mitted her  son. 

The  sight  of  her  beloved  son  once  more  safe  within 
his  own  home  filled  her  heart  with  an  oppressive  sense 
of  joy.  But,  putting  a  restraint  on  her  emotions,  and 
wiping  away  the  tears  that  dimmed  her  sight,  she  took 
the  lamp  and  crept  to  her  daughter's  room.  She 
lifted  the  latch,  and  stood  for  a  few  moments  gazing  on 
the  scene  before  her. 

The  young  wife  was  in  a  deep  slumber.  Her  face 
was  partly  turned  one  side,  toward  the  babe  who 
rested  on  her  arm.  A  large  tear  glistened  on  the 
cheek  of  the  sleeping  one,  but  a  radiant  smile  played 
around  her  lips. 

As  the  aged  mother  hesitated  a  moment,  a  voice 
whispered  in  her  ear,  "  One  moment,  mother,  let  me 
look  upon  them  but  one  moment."  And  the  husband 
and  father  bent  over  the  wife  and  child,  yearning  to 
clasp  them  in  his  arms.  With  no  small  effort  he 
checked  the  impulse ;  but,  softly  touching  the  cheek 
of  his  wife  with  his  lips,  he  stepped  back  into  the 
entry. 

Slight  as  was  that  touch,  it  awoke  her,  and  starting 
up  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  "Why,  mother, 
what  are  you  here  for  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  see  how  you  rested,  my  child,"  com- 


3&8  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

menced  Mrs.  Stanwood,  in  an  assumedly  grave  tone^ 
although  she  found  it  difficult  to  repress  the  emotions 
that  agitated  her. 

"  0  mother,"  said  Margaret,  interrupting  her,  "  I 
have  had  such  a  pleasant  dream !  I  thought  Henry- 
had  come  back,  and  we  were  all  happy  once  again,  — 
0,  so  happy !  But  it  was  only  a  dream,'^  she  contin- 
ued, sadly,  after  a  brief  pause,  —  "a  dream,  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  tears  on  awaking." 

"Do  you  remember,  my  daughter,  what  I  repeated 
to  you  last  evening :  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night, 
hut  joy  Cometh  in  the  morning  "  ?  Then,  stepping  to 
the  window  and  lifting  the  curtain,  "  See  here,  Mar- 
garet," she  said,  in  an  earnest  tone,  pointing  to  the 
east,  now  glowing  with  the  beams  of  day.  "  The 
morning  has  come." 

"  I  see  it  has,  mother,"  rejoined  the  young  wife, 
turning  her  eyes  in  that  direction  ;  "  alas !  what  is  it 
but  the  dawning  of  another  day  of  sorrow?  The 
morning  bringeth  no  joy  to " 

She  stopped  suddenly  and  gazed  fixedly  for  a  while, 
as  if  some  unexpected  object  had  met  her  sight ;  then, 
springing  up  and  pointing  toward  the  cove,  she  ex- 
claimed, in  hurried,  bewildered  accents,  "  Look,  mother, 
look !  there,  in  the  cove !  There  are  the  masts  of  a 
vessel ;  and,  0  God,  there  is  the  vane  I  worked  for 
him !  Tell  me,  mother,  tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  am  I 
deceived  ?  "  And  she  clung  wildly  to  the  aged  widow, 
as  if  life  or  death  was  in  her  reply.  "  Is  it  not  Henry's 
vessel  ?     Is  Henry  safe  ?     Is  he  here  ?  " 

-'■  Be  calm,  my  daughter,"  replied  the  mother,  almost 
as  much  agitated  as  the  one  she  admonished.     "  Re- 


THE  STORM  AT  SEA.  389 

strain  your  feelings.  That  is  Henry's  vessel.  He  is 
alive,  and  well,  and  here,  —  blessed  be  God ! " 

"  Margaret ! ''  said  a  well-known  voice  behind  her. 

With  a  wild,  almost  frenzied  cry  of  joy,  the  young 
wife  turned  and  threw  herself  into  the  arms  that  were 
extended  to  receive  her. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  difiScult  things  for  a  writer  to 
wind  up  the  threads  of  his  story  in  a  compact  manner. 
But  as  ours  is  a  simple  tale,  we  have  no  such  difficulty 
to  contend  with.  We  cannot  do  better  than  to  leave 
the  young  wife,  as  we  have  left  her,  happy  in  the  arms 
of  her  husband. 

33* 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE 

A  LEGEND  OF  FREEPORT 


CHAPTER   I. 

In  a  beautiful  location  on  Casco  Bay,  at  a  place 
called  Flying  Point,  in  what  is  now  known  as  the  town 
of  Freeport,  there  stood  in  1756  a  neat  and  commodi- 
ous log  house,  reared  in  the  fashion  which  generally 
prevailed  among  our  early  settlers,  who  consulted  as 
much  their  safety  from  lurking  foes  as  they  did  their 
comfort.  The  scenery  of  the  neighborhood,  both  sea- 
ward and  landward,  was  unusually  attractive,  render- 
ing this  spot  one  of  the  most  charming  on  the  coast. 
A  number  of  acres  had  been  reclaimed  from  the  wil- 
derness and  made  productive ;  and  for  a  series  of  years 
this  had  been  the  happy  residence  of  the  owner,  Thomas 
Means,  who  had  a  young  and  interesting  family  grow- 
ing up  around  him. 

Thus  far,  amid  the  wild,  savage  wars  that  devastated 
the  early  settlements,  he  had  remained  unmolested ; 
yet,  as  the  depredations  of  the  merciless  Indians  be- 
came more  and  more  frequent,  and  every  day  brought 
rumors  of  their  nearer  approach  to  this  hitherto  peace- 
ful spot,  bis  mind  became  troubled,  and  he  began 

(890) 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  39* 

anxiously  to  make  preparations  to  remove  his  family 
to  a  place  of  security. 

At  the  distance  of  a  mile  or  so  from  liis  dwelling 
was  one  of  those  garrisons,  or  block-houses,  which 
w^ere  erected  for  places  of  refuge  in  those  troublous 
times,  into  which  whole  settlements  would  cluster  for 
safety,  and  oftentimes  for  years  endure  all  those  pri- 
vations which  attend  confined  quarters  and  limited 
provisions.  But  little  conception  have  we  in  these 
later  days  of  the  trials  and  sufferings  of  those  who 
first  reared  their  homes  in  the  wilderness  of  Maine. 
If  we,  their  posterity,  can  say,  "  the  lines  are  fallen 
unto  us  in  pleasant  places,"  not  so  could  they,  the 
early  pioneers,  who  sacrificed  comfort,  ease,  and  too 
often  life,  in  laying  the  foundation  of  our  prosperity. 

At  the  close  of  a  day  in  the  latter  part  of  June,  1757, 
just  at  dusk,  the  family  of  Means  had  gathered  around 
the  supper-table.  His  household  consisted  of  himself, 
his  wife  Alice,  and  three  children,  —  two  girls,  Alice 
and  Jane,  the  one  six  and  the  other  four  years  of  age, 
and  one  son,  Robert,  some  sixteen  months  old.  Be- 
sides these  were  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Means,  Mary  Fin- 
ney,"^ a  beautiful,  spirited  maiden,  in  the  bloom  of  early 
womanhood,  and  a  Mr.  Martin,  who  was  an  employee 
of  Mr.  Means. 

"  Well,  Alice,"  said  Mr.  Means,  addressing  his  wife, 
"have  you  got  everything  prepared  for  removal  to- 
morrow? Martin  and  I  have  put  everything  to  rights, 
I  believe,  out  o'  doors." 

''  I  think  all  is  ready,  Thomas,  so  that  we  can  start 
early  in  the  morning." 

*  Her  real  name  was  Molly.  We  have  taken  the  liberty  to  iTibstitutt 
the  more  euphonious  one  of  Mary. 


392  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

*^  That  is  right,  my  dear.  The  sooner  we  are  all  safe 
in  the  block-house  the  better.  Every  moment  we  re- 
main out  I  feel  is  like  courting  our  destruction.  I 
regret/'  he  added,  with  unwonted  seriousness,  "  that 
"we  did  not  take  neighbor  Skolfield's  advice,  and  remove 
the  first  part  of  the  week." 

"  Why,  husband,  have  you  seen  any  signs  of  the  In- 
dians, that  you  are  so  anxious  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Means, 
with  much  interest. 

"  Not  in  our  immediate  neighborhood.  AHce,but  the 
eettlements  are  swarming  with  them,  and  they  may  be . 
upon  us  at  any  moment.  If  you  and  Mary  and  the 
children  were  in  safety  I  should  feel  more  easy  in  my 
mind;''  and  a  gloomy  shadow  settled  on  the  brow  of 
the  speaker. 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  were  a  man  I "  suddenly  ex- 
claimed Mary  Finney. 

"  And  if  you  were,  my  pretty  Molly,  what  then  ?  " 
asked  the  husband,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  a  smile. 

^^What  then!"  said  the  spirited  girh  ^'I  would 
Bcour  the  woods  and  shoot  down  every  cowardly, 
skulking  red-skin  I  could  find.  I  would  join  old 
Miers,  of  Yarmouth,  and  hunt  them  down  by  night 
and  by  day,  —  the  barbarous  wretches." 

"  This  would  do  if  no  one  was  dependent  upon  you, 
Mary ;  but  a  man  cannot  chase  Indians  and  support  a 
family  at  the  same  time.'* 

"  To  think  we  have  got  to  leave  this  beautiful  spot," 
said  Mrs.  Means,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "just  as 
everything  is  coming  forward  so  finely." 

"  Yes,  and  be  cooped  up  in  that  close,  gloomy  block- 
house, afraid  to  move  an  inch  outside,"  said  Mary,  in 
a  tone  of  vexation.     "  It  is  too  bad,  Thomas.    I  would 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  393 

not  stir  an  inch.  Remain  here.  I  will  practise  with  a 
gun,  and,  if  the  Indians  attack  ns,  fight  them  off;"  and 
the  determined  tone  and  flashing  eyes  of  the  beauti- 
ful girl  evinced  that  she  was  in  earnest. 

"  Ah,  my  brave  sister,  this  talking  about  fighting  the 
Indians,  and  a  real  battle  with  them,  are  different 
things.  With  their  hideous  forms  and  brandished  tom- 
ahawks before  you,  and  their  infernal  war-whoop  ring- 
ing in  your  ears,  bold  as  you  now  are,  I  imagine  there 
would  be  a  quaking  of  your  heart  and  a  blanching  of 
your  cheeks." 

"  There  might  be  both,  brother ;  I  do  not  say  there 
would  not  be ;  but  put  me  to  the  test,  and  see  if  I 
flinch.     What  do  you  say,  Ahce  ?  " 

Mrs.  Means  made  no  reply,  but  shook  her  head 
doubtfully,  while  she  smiled  at  the  enthusiasm  dis- 
played by  her  sister. 

Mr.  Means  answered:  "I  do  not  doubt  your  courage, 
Mary,  but  I  think  it  will  be  best  not  to  put  it  to  the 
trial.  The  Indians  seldom  engage  in  a  fair,  stand-up 
fight,  but  work  mischief  by  stratagem  and  treachery. 
So  you  win  have  everything  ready  for  an  early  remo- 
val in  the  morning.  I  shall  be  uneasy  until  you  are 
all  in  a  place  of  safety.  I  would  that  we  were  in  the 
garrison  this  night." 

"  Hist !  Thomas,  what  is  that?"  suddenly  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Means ;  and  as  the  whole  party  held  their  breath 
in  a  listening  attitude,  a  slight  rustling  of  leaves  and 
a  crackling  of  bushes  could  be  heard,  as  of  some  one 
moving  stealthily  near  the  house. 

The  window  of  the  supper-room  was  open,  and, 
being  nearest  to  it,  Mary  sprang  up  and  rushed  tow- 
ard it.     Leaning  over  the  sill  and  gazing  around,  she 


394  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

for  a  time  saw  no  moving  thing ;  but  presently  her 
eye  detected,  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  trees  which 
skirted  a  httle  valley  that  ran  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
a  dusky  form,  which  was  retreating  slowly  into  the 
woods.  She  watched  it  narrowly  and  suspiciously, 
•until  it  was  lost  to  sight.  What  could  it  be  ?  Was  it 
the  dreaded  red  man  ?  It  was  so  dark  she  could  not 
recognize  the  form,  and  she  felt  her  heart  beat  quicker 
as  the  thought  flashed  upon  her  that  the  foe  might  be 
lurking  around  the  house.  But  presently  a  wolf,  or 
some  other  animal,  burst  from  near  the  same  place, 
and,  bounding  across  the  clearing,  plunged  into  the 
valley. 

"  It  was  but  a  wolf  or  a  deer,"  said  Mary,  returning 
toward  the  table,  from  which  the  others  had  risen.  "  I 
really  believe  our  conversation  about  the  Indians  has 
made  us  all  nervous.  But  we  do  not  care  for  the  red- 
skins, do  we,  Bobby?"  and,  taking  the  youngest  child 
in  her  arms,  the  light-hearted  girl  tossed  him  in  the 
air,  chirruping  to  him  the  while,  as  if  a  thought  of 
danger  had  never  troubled  her. 

The  buoyant  mirth  of  his  frolicsome  sister  failed, 
however,  to  remove  the  weight  that  pressed  on  the 
heart  of  Mr.  Means.  He  could  not  himself  account 
for  the  unusual  despondency  of  his  spirits.  In  vain 
he  strove  to  shake  off  the  gloom  which  had  gathered 
around  him.  It  clung  to  him  in  spite  of  his  efforts. 
He  strove,  also,  to  conceal  the  feelings  which  op- 
pressed him,  but  his  too  evident  uneasiness  threw  a 
shadow  upon  the  little  circle. 

At  an  early  hour  the  family  retired.  The  bedroom 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Means  was  on  the  lower  floor,  as  was 
also  that  of  Mary  Finney,  with  whom  slept  the  two 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  395 

little  girls.     Mr.  Martin,  the  hired  man,  slept  in  the 
chamber. 


CHAPTER    II. 

Do  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before?  Does 
an  unknown  pending  doom  mysteriously  affect  the 
heart,  blanching  it  with  vague  fears,  and  filling  our 
whole  being  with  a  gloomy  unquietness,  with  strange, 
undefined  terrors  ?  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  prese7di' 
ment  ?  Or  are  all  those  depressing  forebodings  which 
oftentimes  precede  a  calamity  but  instances  of  disor- 
dered mental  action,  which  by  singular  coincidences 
happen  on  the  eve  of  some  misfortune  ?  Philosophy 
holds  to  the  latter,  although  facts  and  experience  stub- 
bornly support  the  former,  proposition. 

The  gloom  which  enwrapped  the  spirit  of  Thomas 
Means  on  that  June  evening  was  but  the  foreshadow- 
ing of  his  awful  fate.  Evil  influences,  in  which  his 
destiny  was  involved,  were  at  work  around  him,  un- 
seen and  unknown  by  those  connected  with  him,  but 
felt  by  himself.  The  nature  of  the  danger  that  threat- 
ened him,  of  the  doom  that  hung  over  him,  he  could 
not  fathom ;  but  that  some  fearful  calamity  awaited 
him,  or  those  that  were  dear  to  him,  he  had  not  a 
doubt.  And  yet  he  was  far  from  being  a  superstitious 
man.  He  strove  to  shake  off  the  conviction,  he  ar- 
rayed reason  and  common  sense  against  it,  but  all  to 
no  purpose.  When  he  had  retired  for  the  night,  it 
was  long  before  his  disturbed  feelings  found  repose  in 
sleep. 


396  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

The  reader  will  remember  the  noise  that  attracted 
the  attention  of  those  at  the  supper-table,  and  which 
was  supposed  to  be  occasioned  by  the  harmless  tread 
of  some  animal  of  the  forest.  It  was  a  more  danger- 
ous animal  than  wolf  or  panther.  The  noise  was 
made  by  the  retiring  footsteps  of  one  of  a  band  of 
savages  that  had  been  prowling  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
house  during  the  afternoon,  who  had  crept  near  to 
the  open  window  during  supper-time,  and  heard  the 
conversation  in  regard  to  the  intended  removal  to  the 
block-house  the  next  morning.  On  learning  this  fact, 
the  Indians  made  preparations  to  attack  the  house 
that  night. 

The  early  part  of  the  night  passed  away  quietly ; 
midnight  went  by  without  disturbance  ;  but  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  foe  by  some  means 
forced  an  entrance  into  the  house.  They  immedi- 
ately proceeded  to  the  bedroom  of  Mr.  Means,  seized 
him,  and  dragged  him  from  his  bed  out  of  the  house. 
Startled  from  a  deep  sleep  by  the  noise,  Mrs.  Means 
caught  up  her  son,  when  a  bright  flash  illuminated 
for  a  moment  the  apartment,  followed  by  a  sharp 
report  in  front  of  the  house.  Rushing  to  the  door  to 
learn  the  fate  of  her  husband,  another  gun  was  dis- 
charged, the  ball  from  which  passed  directly  through 
the  body  of  the  child  she  held,  killing  it  instantly,  and 
lodged  in  her  breast.* 

In  the  mean  time,  others  of  the  band  had  entered 
the  house  and  seized  upon  Mary  Finney  and  little 
Alice,  —  the  younger  sister,  Jane,  having  succeeded 
in  escaping  from  their  hands  by  creeping  into  the 
ash-hole. 

*  Literally  true. 


THE   CANADIAN  CAPTIVE.  397 

Perceiving  that  her  husband  was  dead,  Mrs.  Means, 
who,  instead  of  sinking  under  the  accumulating  hor- 
rors which  surrounded  her,  seemed  to  be  endowed 
with  supernatural  strength  and  nerve,  closed  the  front 
door,  and  effectually  barred  it ;  then,  placing  her  dead 
child  on  the  bed,  she  loudly  called  over  a  number  of 
names,  for  the  purpose  of  leading  the  Indians  to  sup- 
pose there  were  other  men  in  the  house.  She  also 
aroused  Martin,  ordering  him  to  fire  from  the  back 
window  on  the  savages,  which  he  did,  severely  wound- 
ing one  of  them  in  the  back. 

The  report  of  Martin's  gun  and  the  fall  of  one  of 
their  number  alarmed  the  Indians,  and  the  one  who 
held  Alice  by  the  hand  for  a  moment  let  go  his  hold. 
Taking  advantage  of  her  freedom,  quick  as  thought 
the  brave  girl  darted  from  his  side,  and,  rushing  up 
the  narrow  valley  we  have  mentioned,  succeeded  in 
effectually  hiding  herself  in  the  rushes.  Too  much 
alarmed  to  spend  long  time  in  search  of  her,  the  In 
dians  immediately  dragged  the  body  of  Mr.  Means 
some  forty  rods  from  the  house,  where  they  tore  off 
his  scalp,  and  then  hastily  left  the  place,  bearing  with 
them  the  wounded  Indian  and  Mary,  to  whom  they 
gave,  with  unexpected  kindness,  a  blanket,  her  only 
previous  covering  being  her  night-clothes,  part  of 
which  had  been  despoiled  in  the  rough  handling  to 
which  she  had  been  subjected.''^ 

*  We  have  detailed  the  circumstances  of  this  attack  precisely  as  they 
were  related  to  us  by  a  descendant  of  the  murdered  man.  Parson 
Smith,  in  his  Journal,  in  a  brief  notice  of  this  affair,  places  the  time 
one  month  earlier.  Under  date  of  May  13th,  after  mentioning  the  cap- 
ture of  a  man  in  Brunswick  by  the  Indians,  he  says,  "  They  killed  one 
Mains  and  *♦**,  at  Flying  Point,  and  carried  away  a  young  woman,  but 

34 


398  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

With  the  retreat  of  the  Indians  and  the  cessation 
of  danger,  the  strength  of  Ahce  Means  forsook  her. 
She  had  seen  her  husband  murdered  in  cold  blood ; 
she  had  borne  her  dead  child  in  her  bosom  unfalter- 
ingly. In  the  short  but  terrible  conflict  she  had  not  a 
thought  for  herself,  for  the  unspeakable  woe  that  had 
befallen  her.  Nay,  in  the  early  morning  light  she  had 
gone  out,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  Martin,  had  borne 
the  gory  corpse  of  her  husband  and  placed  it  on  the 
bed  by  the  side  of  the  weltering  body  of  her  youngest 
born.  All  this  she  had  done  with  a  heroic  firmness 
truly  marvellous  in  one  to  whom  such  sights  of  hor- 
ror were  unknown.  But  when  all  was  accomplished ; 
when  she  stood  by  that  gory  bed,  and  heard  the  blood 
of  the  two  so  dear  to  her  heart  plash,  plash,  slowly 
upon  the  floor,  her  courage  gave  way,  and  her  gentle 
woman  nature  all  returned. 

Language  is  inadequate  to  portray  the  anguish  that 
rent  her  heart.  So  late  a  happy  wife  and  mother,  she 
now  stood  there  bereft  of  all  by  one  cruel  stroke,  — 
widowed,  and,  for  aught  she  knew,  childless.  What 
wonder,  as  she  gazed  on  the  bleeding,  mutilated  forms 
before  her,  that  she  should  covet  their  deep,  unbroken 
repose  ?  At  times  she  would  stand  pale  and  silent  as 
a  statue,  not  a  word  or  a  tear  betraying  the  agony  of 
her  feelings ;  and  then,  giving  way  to  the  paroxysms 
of  grief,  she  would  frantically  call  upon  her  husband 
and  child  not  to  leave  her  alone  in  her  sorrow,  and 

they  also  left  an  Indian  there,  a  man  firing  down  through  the  chamber 
floor,  and  killing  him  on  the  spot."  Our  account  says  nothing  of  kill- 
ing one  of  the  attacking  party,  but  merely  states  that  one  was  wounded, 
as  we  have  related. 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  399 

on  her  God  not  to  prolong  a  life  that  was  a  burden 
to  her. 

In  the  midst  of  one  of  these  paroxysms  a  tiny  hand 
nestled  amid  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and  at  last  clasped 
her  own.  It  was  that  of  her  little  daughter  Jane, 
who  had  ventured  from  her  hiding-place,  and  now 
stood  gazing  awe-struck  on  the  fearful  scene  before 
her.  Bewildered,  and  nearly  heart-broken,  the  poor 
woman  seemed  to  be  unaware  of  the  presence  of  her 
child.  Presently  there  was  a  pattering  of  bare  feet 
over  the  floor,  and  in  another  moment,  with  haggard 
face,  and  rent  and  soiled  night-clothes,  Alice  stood  by 
her  side. 

"  Mother  I  mother !  "  said  the  trembling  little  one, 
forcing  herself  on  her  notice,  "  we  are  here,  little  Jane 
and  Alice.     Will  you  not  kiss  us,  dear  mother  ?  " 

The  sound  of  the  child's  voice  reached  the  mother^* 
ear,  and  touched  the  mother's  heart.  Starting  as  if 
from  a  trance,  she  strained  the  little  ones  to  her  throb- 
bing bosom,  while,  in  a  broken  voice,  she  exclaimed: 
"  Not  all  gone,  —  not  wholly  forsaken  I  God,  I  thank 
thee  I  "  and  the  bereaved  one  bowed  her  head,  while 
plentiful  tears  relieved  the  pressure  of  heart  and  brain. 

But  why  dwell  on  the  sad  scene  ? 

The  bodies  of  the  murdered  ones  were  committed 
to  the  earth,  and  the  widow  and  her  children  removed 
to  the  block-house,  where  she  received  all  that  sym- 
pathy which  her  situation  could  not  fail  to  call  forth. 
Here  it  was,  some  seven  months  after  the  scenes  we 
have  related,  Mrs.  Means  gave  birth  to  a  son,"^  to 

*  From  this  child  descended  those  bearing  the  name  of  Means  in  Free- 
port  and  in  Portland,  to  one  of  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  facts  of  our 
story. 


400  FOREST   AND  SHORE. 

whom  was  given  the  name  of  his  ill-fated  father.  But 
it  is  time  we  should  see  what  has  become  of  our 
captive. 


CHAPTER   III. 

After  leaving  the  scene  of  their  butchery,  the  In- 
dians with  their  captive  made  their  way  to  Samoset 
Point,  on  the  Kennebec.  To  relieve  their  wounded 
companion,  who  was  severely  though  not  mortally 
injured,  they  were  obliged  to  travel  slowly,  which  was 
a  great  relief  to  the  young  captive,  whose  bare  feet 
and  unprotected  limbs  suffered  greatly  on  the  journey. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  Point  they  were  joined  by 
another  band  of  savages,  who  had  been  on  a  ma- 
rauding expedition  to  New  Meadows^  the  scalps  dang- 
ling at  their  belts  too  plainly  intimating  that  their 
bloody  work  had  been  crowned  with  success.  Here, 
after  a  fiendish  exultation  over  their  trophies,  in  which 
they  manifested  their  joy  in  the  most  demoniacal  man- 
ner, whooping,  shouting,  and  dancing  around  their 
gory  spoils,  and  brandishing  their  tomahawks  around 
the  head  of  their  captive,  menacing  her  with  a  death 
which  she  would  willingly  have  accepted  at  their 
hands,  they  finally  held  a  consultation  as  to  their 
future  course.  The  result  of  their  wild  and  riotous 
debate  was,  to  take  the  nearest  route  to  Canada. 
Preparations  were  immediately  made  for  the  journey. 
The  wounded  Indian  was  given  in  charge  of  Mary, 
with  directions  to  attend  upon  his  wants,  and  with 
the  agreeable  assurance  that  if  he  died  her  life  would 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  401 

be  forfeited.  Before  starting,  the  captive  was  enabled 
to  secure  a  pair  of  moccasins  and  leggins,  which  she 
found  a  great  protection  to  her  limbs. 

On  their  journey,  the  party  frequently  halted  for 
the  purpose  of  hunting,  at  which  times  Mary  would  be 
left  alone  with  her  savage  patient,  whose  wound,  ren- 
dered painful  by  exertion,  often  worked  him  into  al- 
most ungovernable  fits  of  rage,  during  which  he  time 
and  again  menaced  her  life.  On  one  of  these  occasions 
he  seized  Mary  by  the  hair,  and,  brandishing  a  toma- 
hawk, would  no  doubt  have  buried  it  in  her  sknll 
had  not  some  of  the  party  opportunely  arrived  and 
wrenched  the  weapon  from  his  hands.  So  resolved 
did  he  appear  to  take  her  life,  that  Mary  was  kept  in 
a  continual  state  of  anxiety  and  excitement.  Deter- 
mined, however,  to  shield  herself  to  the  best  of  her 
abilities,  she  had  secreted  a  hunting-knife,  which  she 
resolved  to  use  in  her  own  defence  should  the  occasion 
demand  it.  More  than  once,  when  left  with  the  dis- 
abled savage,  was  she  tempted  to  make  her  escape ;  but 
when  she  reflected  on  her  situation,  in  the  depths  of  a 
wilderness,  without  a  guide,  and  with  no  means  to 
procure  food,  her  path  beset  with  prowling  foes,  the 
hopelessness  of  succeeding  deterred  her  from  the  rash 
undertaking. 

Fortunately,  our  captive  was  blessed  with  a  hopeful 
disposition,  and  possessed  no  mean  share  of  energy;  so, 
bracing  up  her  courage  with  the  determination  to  make 
the  best  of  her  situation,  she  plodded  on  her  toilsome 
way.  It  would  be  difficult  to  form  anything  like  a 
true  conception  of  the  trials  and  sufi'erings  to  which 
she  was  daily  and  hourly  subjected.  Severe  as  they 
were;  she  bore  up  under  them  bravely^  displaying  such 
3-1* 


402  FOREST  AND   SHORE. 

an  indomitable  spirit  that  she  won  sensibly  on  the  re- 
gards of  her  captors,  all  save  the  wounded  savage,  to 
whom  she  was  anything  but  a  tender  nurse.  Indeed, 
we  are  not  sure  that  she  did  not  take  a  mischievous 
delight  in  prolonging  his  sufferings. 

We  will  not  follow  her  through  the  route.  Suffice 
it  that,  after  a  fatiguing  journey  of  six  weeks,  the 
party  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Quebec,  and  right  glad 
was  Mary,  although  wholly  uncertain  as  to  what  her 
future  fate  might  be. 

At  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing,  the  Indians 
always  found  ready  purchasers  for  their  captives  in 
the  French,  who  bought  them  for  servants.  This  will 
account  for  their  preserving  the  lives  of  so  many,  in 
their  ruthless  attacks  on  the  whites.  Still,  it  was  a 
frequent  occurrence,  when  their  captives  gave  them 
much  trouble  by  their  attempting  to  escape,  or,  worn 
down  by  fatigue  and  suffering,  they  were  unable  to 
keep  up  with  them,  for  the  savages  to  despatch  them 
at  once,  knowing  well  that  their  scalps  would  be  a 
source  of  profit  to  them.  It  is  well  authenticated  that 
the  French  encouraged  the  savages  in  their  cruelty  by 
paying  a  bounty  for  the  scalps  taken,  as  our  Legisla- 
ture does  for  the  heads  of  wild-cats.  It  seems  incred- 
ible that  a  professedly  Christian  nation  should  have 
become  a  party  to  such  an  inhuman,  such  a  horrible 
traffic;  but  the  fact  cannot  be  gainsayed.  The  life- 
blood  of  thousands  has  attested  to  the  degrading 
truth.* 

*  It  may  be  well  to  curb  our  indignation  against  the  French,  until  we 
learn  if  our  own  skirts  are  not  stained  with  gore.  In  Belknap's  History 
of  New  Hampshire,  speaking  of  one  of  Lovewell's  or  Lovel's  fights,  the 
author  s»ys  of  thwe  enj^ed  in  it,  '*  The  brave  company,  with  the  ten 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  403 

A.  purchaser  was  soon  found  for  our  captive,  and 
Mary  gladly  left  her  savage  companions  to  enter  the 
service  of  Monsieur  Lemoine.  Her  life  she  felt  would 
now  be  secure,  while  the  chances  of  regaining  her 
liberty  were  much  in  her  favor. 

This  Lemoine,  on  the  whole,  did  not  prove  a  bad 
character,  although  at  the  outset  he  displayed  that  of 
the  unfeeling  task-master.  At  the  first,  he  set  her  to 
work  in  his  fields,  a  species  of  labor  common  enough 
to  French  women,  but  at  which  the  high-spirited  girl 
at  once  rebelled.  She  soon  evinced  her  determination 
not  to  be  subjected  to  the  rough  usages  of  a  field- 
servant,  by  uprooting  his  crops  and  destroying  what- 
ever came  within  her  reach.  Remonstrances  had  no 
efi'ect  on  her ;  the  more  her  master  reproached  her 
heedlessness  and  sputtered  over  her  carelessness,  the 
more  perverse  and  reckless  she  grew;  and,  finding 
that  he  had  no  control  over  her,  and  that  she  was 
worse  than  useless  at  out-of-door  work,  he  wisely  con- 
cluded to  try  her  in  doors. 

He  took  her  into  his  kitchen;  and  her  excellent 
domestic  qualities  became  so  soon  apparent,  that,  in  a 
very  short  time,  Madame  Lemoine  installed  her  as 
mistress  of  the  cooking  department,  the  duties  of 
which  she  performed  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the 
household,  proving  herself  an  invaluable  servant,  to 
whom,  in  a  brief  period,  the  whole  family  became 
much  attached. 

Matters  moved  along  very  smoothly  for  a  while ;  and, 
had  it  not  been  that  her  thoughts  constantly  reverted 

Bcalps  stretched  on  hoops  and  elevated  on  poles,  entered  Dover  in  triumph, 
and  proceeded  thence  to  Boston,  where  they  received  the  bounty  of  on« 
hundred  pounds  each,  out  of  the  public  treaaury." 


404  FOEEST  AND  SHORE. 

to  her  former  home,  and  to  the  dreadful  uncertamty 
of  the  fjite  of  her  sister's  family,  she  might  have  Hved 
comparatively  happy.  When  that  uncertainty  was 
removed,  and  she  had  learned  the  result  of  that  fearful 
night-attack,  she  yearned  to  be  with  the  widowed  one, 
whose  bruised  heart  she  felt  she  might  strengthen  if 
she  could  not  heal. 

We  have  intimated  that  Mary  possessed  a  good  share 
of  beauty.  She  was,  indeed,  we  are  told,  remarkable 
for  her  personal  charms.  To  a  graceful,  well-devel- 
oped form  were  added  features  of  uncommon  love- 
liness. But  it  was  not  merely  a  set  of  features  nor  a 
faultless  complexion  that  won  admiration.  There  was 
a  glow  of  inteUigence  in  those  features,  an  expression 
of  sportive  archness  playing  around  the  mouth  and  the 
eye,  such  a  depth  of  character  shadowed  forth  in  every 
lineament,  — 

**  The  mind,  the  music,  breathing  from  her  face,'*  — 

that  few  could  resist  the  bewitching  spell  of  her 
beauty. 

These  charms  soon  made  an  impression  on  the  sus- 
ceptible heart  of  a  young  Frenchman,  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  visiting  the  house.  So  enamored  did  Mon- 
sieur Bovais  become  of  the  beautiful  English  servant, 
that  he  was  not  long  in  betraying  his  passion  to  Mary. 
We  believe  there  was  a  spice  of  coquetry  —  not  a 
rare  thing,  we  apprehend,  in  her  sex  —  in  our  hero- 
ine's disposition.  At  all  events,  she  did  not  dislike  a 
little  admiration ;  or,  if  she  did  not  encourage,  she  cer- 
tainly did  not  discourage,  the  addresses  of  her  admirer, 
who  was  not  a  bad-looking  fellow,  take  him  ah  in  all. 

We  know  not  how  long  a  period  elapsed  after  this 


THE   CANADIAN  CAPTIVE.  405 

conquest  ere  the  old  Frenchman,  her  master,  began  to 
suspect  how  matters  were  going  on,  or  what  objection 
he  had  to  the  flirtation,  —  for  such  only,  we  are  con- 
vinced, did  Mary  consider  it.  But  it  appears  his  eyes 
were  at  last  opened,  and  a  great  pother  he  made  about 
the  affair.  He  at  once  peremptorily  forbade  Mary  hav- 
ing anything  to  do  with  Bovais,  prohibiting  all  inter- 
course by  word  or  look.  Finding,  however,  that  she 
proved  refractory,  and  showed  a  disposition  to  slight 
his  commands,  he  instituted  a  strict  watch  over  her 
conduct  during  the  day,  and  when  evening  came  he 
carefully  locked  her  within  her  chamber. 

What  would  have  been  the  result  of  these  harsh 
measures  it  would  be  difficult  to  say,  knowing  that 
"  Love  laughs  at  locksmiths,"  and  opposition  to  the 
tender  passion  but  serves  to  feed  the  flame,  had  not  a 
new  character  appeared  on  the  stage,  whose  introduc- 
tion to  the  reader  we  beg  to  reserve  for  another 
chapter. 


CHAPTER    lY. 

It  chanced  about  this  time  that  an  English  trans- 
port ship,  commanded  by  Captain  William  McLellan,* 
of  Falmouth,  arrived  at  Quebec.  Captain  McLellan 
had  heard  of  the  capture  of  Miss  Finney  before  he 
left  home,  and  was  determined,  if  possible,  to  rescue 
her.  Soon  after  his  arrival,  therefore,  he  commenced 
making  inquiries  respecting  her,  but  in  a  manner  so 

*  Fatter  of  the  late  Captain  William  McLellan. 


406  FOREST  AND  SHORE. 

guarded  as  not  to  excite  suspicion  of  his  real  design. 
To  cloak  his  intentions,  in  his  conversation  he  main- 
tained a  show  of  indifference  rather  than  interest  in 
her  fate,  yet  not  the  slightest  hint  that  might  serve  to 
give  him  a  clue  to  her  did  he  suffer  to  escape  his  no- 
tice. For  a  long  time  his  endeavors  to  ascertain  her 
place  of  abode  were  unsuccessful,  and  he  began  to 
doubt  of  his  success.  But  being  young,  energetic, 
and  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  he  was  not  one  to  be 
easily  discouraged. 

The  first  intimation  he  received  respecting  her  was 
one  evening  in  a  coffee-house,  where  he  accidentally 
overheard  two  or  three  Frenchmen  bantering  one  of 
their  companions  for  worshipping  at  the  shrine  of  a 
certain  English  serving-maid,  whose  beauty  was  con- 
fessed by  all.  In  the  course  of  the  conversation,  the 
names  of  ''  Mary  "  and  "  Lemoine  "  were  often  men- 
tioned. 

"  Ila !  "  said  the  captain  to  himself,  "  steady  as  she 
goes ;  this  must  be  the  right  course.  I  '11  sail  on  this 
tack  a  while." 

So,  seating  himself  a  little  apart  from  the  group,  he 
ordered  some  refreshments,  and  busied  himself  appar- 
ently in  discussing  their  merits,  while  not  a  word  that 
the  party  uttered  escaped  his  attention. 

When  they  had  left,  our  young  captain,  in  a  careless 
manner,  inquired  of  the  hotel-keeper  if  he  knew  of  a 
person  by  the  name  of  Lemoine  in  Quebec. 

"  Monsieur  Lemoine?    0  yes  I  I  know  him  welL'' 

"  What  is  his  occupation,  Monsieur  Dumont  ? '' 

"  An  Indian  trader,  a  dealer  in  pelts  and  fur.'^ 

"  Is  he  a  man  of  wealth  ?  " 

"  Oui,  very  rich.     He  owns  lots  of  land  in  the  vicin* 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  407 

ity  of  Quebec.  A  very  prosperous  man.  Would 
Monsieur  like  an  introduction  to  liim?"  asked  the 
lively  Frenchman. 

"0  no,"  said  the  captain,  indifferently.  '^I  had 
heard  of  him  as  an  enterprising  merchant,  which  was 
the  occasion  of  my  inquiry." 

Finding  the  landlord  disposed  to  be  loquacious,  the 
captain  thought  he  might  venture  a  step  or  two 
further. 

"  Is  Monsieur  Lemoine  married  ?  "  he  asked. 

^'  Yes,  he  has  quite  a  family." 

^' Does  he  keep  an  establishment? " 

'^  Certainly,  quite  a  large  establishment,"  said  the 
garrulous  host ;  "  but  Monsieur  Lemoine  is  one  very 
odd  man." 

"Where  did  you  say  he  lived?" 

"  0,  close  by,  on  the  corner  of  street,  not  a 

stone's  throw  distant." 

"So  far  so  good,"  thought  our  shrewd  captain. 
"  We  have  got  possession  of  the  outworks  ;  now  for 
the  citadel  I " 

"  So  Monsieur  Lemoine  is  an  eccentric  character,  is 
he  ?  "  continued  the  captain. 

"  One  very  queer  man  indeed,"  rejoined  Boniface. 

"  I  judged  as  much  from  what  the  young  men  said 
who  left  us  a  short  time  since." 

"Ha!  ha!"  chuckled  the  good-humored  host; 
"Mons.  Duran,  Mons.  Fonbanc,  Mens.  Bovais  !  " 

"Exactly;  they  joked  one  of  the  party  about  a 
pretty  serving-girl,  a  flame  of  his,  I  should  judge." 

"Oui,  oui!  Mons.  Bovais.  He  is  very  much  — 
what  you  call  it?  —  smitten  with  Mademoiselle." 

"  Is  she  very  pretty  ?  " 


408  FOEEST  AND  SHORE. 

'^  Beautiful !  "  was  the  laconic  response. 

^^  What  did  you  say  was  her  name?''  asked  the 
crafty  captain. 

'^  Mary  —  Mary  Feeney :  one  beautiful  girl ! '' 

Here,  his  services  being  required  elsewhere,  the 
landlord  moved  off,  rubbing  his  hands,  as  he  repeated 
to  himself,  "  Oui,  one  beautiful,  one  very  beautiful 
girl ! " 

Our  worthy  captain,  having  gained  all  the  informa- 
tion he  desired,  soon  after  took  his  departure,  well  sat- 
isfied. 

The  whereabouts  of  the  object  of  his  search  ascer- 
tained, the  next  purpose  was  to  obtain  an  interview 
with  her.  This  he  found  would  be  rather  a  difficult 
matter,  for  her  master,  he  learned,  kept  a  jealous  watch 
over  her.  Frequently  during  the  day  he  would  saun- 
ter in  the  neighborhood  in  which  Lemoine  lived,  hop- 
ing he  might  get  sight  of  Mary,  but  for  a  long  time  he 
was  doomed  to  be  disappointed. 

At  last,  one  morning,  when  his  patience  w^is  well- 
nigh  exhausted,  as  he  slowly  walked  by  the  door,  it 
opened,  and  a  young  woman  appeared  with  a  broom 
in  her  hand.  There  was  no  time  to  lose,  and  stepping 
hastily  into  the  recess  in  which  the  door  was  placed, 
the  captain  asked:  "Does  Monsieur  Lemoine  live 
here?'' 

"  He  does,  sir,"  said  Mary,  surprised  at  hearing  her- 
self addressed  in  her  native  tongue. 

"  Is  there  a  girl  by  the  name  of  Mary  Finney  living 
with  him  ?  "  continued  the  captain. 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir ! "  repHed  Mary,  while  a  flush 
of  mingled  joy  and  astonishment  mantled  her  cheeks. 

"  Take  this,  then,"  returned  the  stranger,  handing 


THE   OANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  409 

her  a  note.     "  I  will  be  passing  here  at  the  same  houi^ 
to-morrow  morning,  when  you  can  give  me  your  an- 
swer." "''  . 

Mary  had  barely  time  to  conceal  the  note,  and  the^'- 
stranger  to  leave  the  alcove,  when  the  shrivelled  face 
of  Monsieur  Lemoine  protruded  through  the  half  open 
door,  and  his  querulous  voice  was  heard,  ordering  her 
to  hasten  her  task  of  sweeping  the  steps,  and  return 
to  the  house.  Not  less  impatient  than  her  master  to 
get  through  with  her  work,  she  made  the  broom  and 
the  dust  fly,  and  hastened  into  the  house,  her  heart  in 
a  flutter  of  curiosity  to  learn  the  contents  of  the  note 
so  strangely  and  unexpectedly  thrust  into  her  hands. 
Never  in  her  experience  did  the  hours  seem  so  long, 
until  she  found  leisure  and  opportunity  to  retire  to 
her  chamber,  where  she  could  read  the  mysterious 
note  undisturbed.  The  coveted  opportanity  came  at 
last,  and  with  a  beating  heart  Mary  sought  her  room. 

Having  secured  the  door,  to  prevent  intrusion,  she 
eagerly  broke  the  seal  of  the  note.  The  brilliant 
glow  of  satisfaction  that  lighted  up  her  countenance, 
and  the  sudden  glistening  of  her  eyes  as  she  ran  over 
its  contents,  plainly  evinced  the  interest  they  had 
excited,  and  that  they  were  in  the  highest  degree 
agreeable  to  her.     The  note  read  as  follows : 

*'Miss  Mary  Finney,  —  Though  personally  a  stranger  to  you,  the 
writer  is  a  friend  and  a  countryman  of  yours.  He  is  in  command  of  the 
English  ship  Jane,  and  is  bound  for  Falmouth,  Maine,  his  native  place, 
for  which  port  he  expects  to  sail  in  the  course  of  a  week.  Previous  to 
leaving  home  he  had  heard  of  your  captivity,  and  his  object  in  writing  is, 
to  devise  some  plan  for  your  release  and  restoration  to  your  friends.  He 
is  aware  of  the  strict  seclusion  in  which  you  are  kept,  and  of  the  difficul- 
ties which  surround  you  ;  but  if  you  could  by  possibility  contrive  a  per- 


410  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

sonal  interview  so  as  to  arrange  matters,  it  would  greatly  facilitate  the 
purpose  he  has  in  view. 

*'  Precisely  at  seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  the  writer  will  pass  the 
house  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  your  answer.  Should  anything  occur 
to  prevent  your  being  at  the  door,  he  will  again  pass  the  house  at  five  in 
the  afternoon.  With  respect, 

*'  William  McLellan.'* 

A  tide  of  tumultuous  joy  rushed  through  the  heart 
of  Mary  as  she  finished  the  perusal  of  the  note.  The 
prospect  of  deliverance  from  her  irksome  captivity, 
and  restoration  to  friends  and  home,  excited  such  in- 
tense emotions  that  for  a  time  the  obstacles  to  be 
overcome  before  her  deliverance  could  be  accom- 
plished were  wholly  unthought  of. 

Leaning  her  head  on  her  hand^  in  a  delightful  reverie 
her  thoughts  wandered  to  her  far-away  home.  She 
was  again  amid  fomiliar  and  cherished  scenes,  sur- 
rounded by  loved  friends,  urgent  to  welcome  her  back, 
and  eager  to  hear  her  story  of  sufferings,  peril,  and 
escape.  Then  came  thoughts  of  the  one  to  whom  she 
was  indebted  for  all  this  happiness.  Although  she  had, 
in  fact,  caught  but  a  partial  glimpse  of  his  person,  still 
that  passing  g^lance  prepossessed  her  in  his  favor,  and 
fancy  endowed  him  with  all  those  manly  qualities  and 
graces  so  attractive  to  the  female  eye  and  heart. 
Gratitude  had  already  endeared  him  to  her,  and  what 
gratitude  had  commenced,  a  deeper  and  tenderer  sen- 
timent was  perfecting.  In  truth,  our  captive  was 
building  a  very  charming  castle  in  her  busy  brain, 
when  the  wheezing  cough  and  shuffling  feet  of  Mon- 
sieur Lemoine,  as  he  passed  her  door,  and,  as  was  his 
custom,  turned  the  lock  upon  her,  demolished  at  once 
the  airy  fabric,  and  hastily  recalled  her  roving  thoughts 
to  the  unpleasant  reality  of  her  situation. 


THE    CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  411 

An  entirely  new  direction  was  now  given  to  her 
reflections.  Wliat  should  she  write  in  reply  to  her 
proposed  deliverer?  How  could  she  manage  to  grant 
the  desired  interview  ?  The  surveillance  of  her  mas- 
ter had  of  late  grown  so  strict  she  felt  it  would  be 
extremely  diJSicult,  if  not  impossible,  to  elude  it.  She 
could  not  meet  the  stranger  in  the  evening  without 
the  house,  for  Lemoine  never  permitted  her  to  step 
*out  of  doors  after  nightfall.  She  might  invent  a  thou- 
sand excuses  for  going  abroad,  but  she  well  knew 
they  would  not  be  listened  to  for  a  minute.  If  he 
came  to  the  house  in  the  daytime  and  inquired  for 
her,  it  would  be  at  the  risk  of  at  once  arousing  the 
suspicions  of  old  Lemoine,  without  at  all  accomplish- 
ing the  object  she  had  in  view ;  for  she  was  convinced 
she  would  not  be  permitted  to  see  him  alone,  as,  from 
certain  circumstances  that  had  transpired,  she  had  not 
the  least  doubt  that  some  of  the  domestics  were 
placed  as  spies  on  her  conduct. 

Mary  now  regretted  the  rather  defiant  spirit  she 
had  of  late  been  in  the  habit  of  exhibiting  toward  her 
master,  and  that  she  had  not  won  his  confidence  by  a 
more  compliant  disposition,  a  more  ready  acquiescence 
in  his  wishes.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it  now. 
^^  It  is  too  late  to  repent  of  that,"  thought  Mary,  as 
she  sat  perplexed  in  mind  in  regard  to  the  proposed 
meeting.  A  thousand  plans  arose  in  her  mind,  which 
were  no  sooner  suggested  than  discarded  as  impracti- 
cable. After  pondering  over  the  subject  she  resolved 
that  she  Tvould  clandestinely  leave  the  house  at  the 
appointed  hour  in  the  morning,  running  the  risk  of  her 
short  absence  being  detected.  Then  came  the  reflec- 
tion, if  her  absence  should  be  noticed, — and  the  chances 


412  FnrfE?^T  .ind  kijoef. 

were  as  a  IiuudrL'd  to  one  tliiit  it  would, —  woiik]  not 
the  consequences  be  fatal  to  her  final  escape  by  cre- 
ating new  and  insurmountable  obstacles  to  it? 

Half  bewildered  by  the  many  projects  that  floated 
through  her  brain,  she  passed  her  hand  rapidly  over 
her  forehead,  as  if  to  efface  the  frown  of  vexation  that 
was  gathering  there,  when  a  new  idea  flashed  upon 
her  mind. 

"  Why  could  I  not  have  thought  of  that  before  ?  '^ 
she  said,  with  a  low,  merry  laugh,  which  evinced  that 
the  difficulty  had  vanished. 

On  one  side  of  Monsieur  Lemoine's  house  was  an 
avenue  open  to  the  street  and  running  back  the  whole 
length  of  the  building  and  out-houses.  Mary's  cham- 
ber was  in  the  second  story,  and  a  window  opened  on 
this  place.  The  sleeping  apartments  of  the  family 
were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house,  looking  upon 
the  street.  Those  of  the  servants  were  in  the  third 
story.  The  thought  suggested  to  Mary  was,  to  invite 
the  stranger  to  an  interview  beneath  her  window, 
after  the  family  had  retired  for  the  night.  Acting 
upon  this,  she  immediately  wrote  him  a  note,  in  which 
she  sketched  a  plan  of  the  house,  pointing  out  the 
window  of  her  chamber.  She  also  informed  him  of 
their  usual  hour  of  retiring,  and  mentioned  the  time 
when  she  would  be  at  the  window  to  receive  him. 

But  little  disposition  for  sleep  had  our  captive  that 
night.  Her  busy  thoughts'  kept  her  wakeful  and  rest- 
less ;  or,  if  she  fell  into  a  brief  slumber,  her  imagina- 
tion rioted  in  the  wildest  and  strangest  dreams,  al! 
relating  to  her  proposed  flight.  Every  possible  inci 
dent  that  could  attend  her  escape,  and  a  thoiisand  im 
possible  ones,  mingled  fantastically  in  her  thoughts, 


THE   CANADIAN   CAniVE.  413 

keeping  her  mind  constantly  on  the  stretch.  Heartily 
rejoiced  was  she  when  the  lagging  day  at  last  ap- 
peared, and  she  could  leave  a  couch  which  had  proved 
anything  but  refreshing  to  her. 

With  feelings  so  intensely  excited,  Mary  found  her 
usual  routine  of  duties  to  be  exceedingly  irksome. 
She  exerted  herself  to  restrain  her  emotions  and  to 
assume  her  wonted  air  of  indifference.  As  the  ap- 
pointed hour  drew  near  when  she  was  to  return  her 
answer,  she  became  nervously  sensitive,  imagining 
that  her  movements  were  scrutinized  more  closely 
than  usual.  Anxiously  she  counted  the  minutes  and 
consulted  the  clock,  and,  as  the  time  approached,  she 
took  the  broom,  as  had  been  her  custom,  and  com- 
menced sweeping  the  entry.  When  the  clock  struck 
Beven  she  opened  the  door  and  descended  the  front 
steps.  Casting  her  eye  down  the  street,  she  recog- 
nized the  person  who  had  accosted  her  the  morning 
previous,  coming  towards  her.  At  the  same  moment, 
to  her  dismay,  she  heard  the  steps  of  Monsieur  Le- 
moine  in  the  entry,  making  towards  the  half-closed 
door.  His  appearance  at  the  door  and  that  of  the 
stranger  in  front  of  it  she  saw  would  be  simultane- 
ous, and  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  deliver  the 
note  into  the  stranger's  hands,  with  her  master's  pry- 
ing eyes  fixed  upon  her,  without  detection.  What 
should  she  do  ?  Let  a  woman  alone  in  an  emergency. 
AVith  the  ready  wit  of  her  sex,  she  dropped  the  note 
on  one  of  the  lower  steps  at  the  very  instant  the  old 
man  opened  the  door,  at  the  same  moment  busily 
resuming  her  employment,  as  if  unconscious  of  ob- 
servation. 

As  she  foresaw,  the  stranger  was  directly  in  front 
35^ 


414  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

of  the  door  as  Lemoine  stood  on  the  sill.  With  a 
dexterous  sweep  of  the  broom  she  managed  to  twirl 
the  note  over  the  lower  step  and  up  the  pavement 
directly  in  front  of  the  stranger,  whose  significant 
glance  as  he  passed  assured  her  that  he  understood 
the  manoeuvre.  The  door,  as  we  have  said,  being  in 
a  recess,  the  old  man  could  not  see  what  followed;  but 
Mary,  stepping  out  in  front  to  sweep  the  walk,  had 
the  satisfaption  of  seeing  the  stranger  secure  the  ob- 
ject of  so  much  anxiety. 

"Come  in,  girl!  come  in!"  said  old  Lemoine,  as 
for  a  moment  Mary  paused  in  her  work,  her  eyes  un- 
consciously following  the  stranger.  "  What  are  you 
looking  at?  Eh,  eh,  hussy,  was  not  that  the  same 
young  man  who  passed  yestermorn  while  you  were 
sweeping?" 

"  I  did  not  notice  that  it  was,"  replied  Mary,  blush- 
ing at  her  duplicity,  and  striving  to  avoid  the  jealous 
gaze  of  her  master  by  stepping  into  the  somewhat 
darkened  entry. 

"  Did  not  notice  him  ?  I  thought  he  looked  as  if  he 
knew  you,"  rejoined  the  old  man  as  he  closed  the  door 
and  shuffled  after  her. 

"  He  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  me,  I  assure  you,  sir," 
said  Mary,  with  such  a  tone  of  candor  that  her  master 
appeared  satisfied  that  she  spoke  the  truth. 

With  feelings  of  relief  Mary  now  went  about  her 
daily  avocations,  yet  disturbed  by  many  an  anxious 
thought  in  regard  to  the  interview  of  the  coming 
night. 


THE  CANADIAN  CArTIVE.  415 


CHAPTER    V 


The  evening  of  what  had  been  to  Mary  a  long  and 
weary  day  at  last  arrived.  Her  household  duties  had 
all  been  performed ;  not  entirely  to  her  satisfaction,  it 
is  true,  for  she  had  been  in  a  perturbed  state  all  the 
day,  and  her  heart  was  not  in  her  work.  She  felt 
somewhat  fatigued,  for  she  had  accomplished  much 
more  than  the  usual  task  allotted  to  her.  Impatient 
for  the  coming  night,  she  had  hurried  her  work  as  if 
by  that  means  she  could  hurry  the  hours ;  passing 
from  this  thing  to  that  with  such  celerity  that  Mad- 
ame Lemoine  noticed  it,  and  laughingly  remarked  that 
sh-e  seemed  to  be  seized  with  a  new  fit  of  industry. 
Most  heartily  did  Mary  rejoice  when  the  last  duty  of 
the  day  was  performed,  and  she  was  permitted  to 
retire  for  the  night. 

Seated  in  her  chamber,  she  waited  in  suspense  for 
an  hour  or  two,  anxiously  listening  as  one  after 
another  of  the  household  retired.  At  an  earlier  hour 
than  usual  she  was  delighted  to  hear  the  footsteps  of 
her  master  in  the  passage-way  that  ran  by  her  cham- 
ber, and  never  was  sound  more  welcome  than  the 
click  of  the  lock  which  notified  her  that  she  was  a 
prisoner  for  the  night.  She  could  not  restrain  a  gay, 
laughing  exclamation:  "Ha!  ha!  Monsieur  Lemoine, 
you  will  find  your  bird  flown,  one  of  these  mornings, 
in  spite  of  your  lock  !  " 

Having  extinguished  her  light,  she  sat  in  silence 
and  darkness  another  hour  or  so,  intently  listening  if 
all  was  still  in  the  house.  She  then  took  her  place 
at  the  window.     Although  the  night  was  cloudless^ 


416  FOREST    AND   SFIOI^E. 

owing  to  a  peculiar  state  of  the  atmospliere  the  stars 
shed  but  a  feeble  light.  Conflicting  emotions,  hopes 
and  fears  commingling,  agitated  her  breast  as  she 
leaned  upon  the  sill  and  gazed  on  the  darkened  scene. 
Not  a  sound  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  hour,  until 
the  tones  of  a  neighboring  bell,  throbbing  solemnly  on 
the  midnight  air,  startled  Mary  from  a  reverie  into 
which  she  had  fallen,  and  sent  the  blood  coursing 
through  her  veins.  It  was  the  hour  appointed  for  the 
meeting.  With  senses  all  alert,  Mary  leaned  eagerly 
over  the  sill,  and  presently  her  ear  detected  the  sound 
of  distant  footsteps.  They  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
but  at  last  they  suddenly  ceased,  and  the  same  deep 
silence  reigned. 

"  It  was  some  one  else,"  murmured  Mary,  with  a 
sigh  of  disappointment.  But  the  words  had  barely 
escaped  her  lips,  when  her  eye  detected  a  dusky  figure 
stealthily  moving  down  the  avenue.  It  halted  beneath 
her  window ;  and,  with  a  thrill,  Mary  heard  her  name 
softly  whispered.  She  replied.  Then,  in  the  same 
cautious  tone,  a  consultation  followed,  the  result  of 
which  was,  that  the  ship  would  be  ready  for  sea  in 
three  days,  and  that  on  the  second  succeeding  night 
Captain  McLellan  would  be  on  the  spot  provided  with 
means  for  her  descent.  This  and  other  matters  agreed 
upon,  the  captain  took  his  leave  undiscovered,  and 
Mary  sought  her  pillow,  her  thoughts  filled  with  the 
one  all-absorbing  subject,  though  in  a  more  composed 
frame  of  mind  than  she  had  been  throughout  the  day. 
Now  that  the  affair  was  settled,  and  but  one  more 
obstacle  to  be  overcome  ere  she  effected  her  escape, 
she  could  look  the  difficulty  more  calmly  in  tlio  fiice. 

The  idea  of  leaving  clandestinely  caused  a  momen- 


TIIK    CANADIAN    CAPTIVE.  417 

tary  feeling  of  regret,  for  a  mutual  attachment  existed 
between  her  and  the  members  of  the  family,  all  of 
whom  treated  her  with  kindness.  Even  old  Lemoine, 
whose  jealous  suspicions  subjected  her  to  frequent 
annoyances  and  restrained  her  freedom  of  action,  was 
by  no  means  a  harsh  and  unkind  master.  It  was  but 
the  petty  tyranny  exercised  by  a  foolish  old  man,  who 
feared  that  her  pretty  face  might  win  admirers,  and 
in  the  end  subject  him  to  the  loss  of  a  valuable  ser- 
vant. It  may  be  that  Monsieur  Lemoine  was  not  him- 
self wholly  insensible  to  the  tempting,  blooming  charms 
of  his  servant-maid.  There  is  no  saying.  Some  of 
these  white-headed  old  fellows  retain  the  fervor  of 
youth  to  a  remarkable  degree.  Their  hearts  are  like 
the  famous  Geyser  springs,  boiling  with  internal  heat 
amid  polar  snows  and  ice. 

The  regret,  as  we  have  said,  was  but  momentary ; 
for  on  the  one  side  was,  it  might  be,  a  hfe-long  servi- 
tude, an  ignominious  bondage,  —  for  the  sphere  into 
which  she  had  been  forced  was  not  congenial  to  her 
feelings  or  her  station  in  society ;  on  the  other  side, 
freedom,  restoration  to  friends  and  home,  and  all  the 
endearing  associations  that  cluster  around  and  within 
the  domestic  circle.  There  was  still  another  influence 
in  operation,  hidden  within  the  depths  of  her  heart, 
and  as  yet  scarcely  recognized.  Mingling  with  and 
coloring  by  its  passionate  hues  all  the  joys  which 
awaited  her  deliverance  from  captivity,  came  this 
secret  feeling,  an  unbidden,  almost  as  we  have  said 
unrecognized,  yet  not  an  unwelcome,  guest.  Twice 
only  had  she  caught  passing  glances  of  the  stranger 
who  had  so  disinterestedly  volunteered  in  her  behalf; 
yet  it  was  but  natural  she  should  cherish  his  image 


418  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

with  no  small  degree  of  interest.  Tier  sympathies 
were  of  course  deeply  enlisted  in  his  favor ;  and,  when 
a  woman's  sympathies  become  thus  rooted^  they  are 
very  apt  rapidl}^  to  run  to  seed. 

The  intervening  days  were  passed  by  Mary  in  no 
enviable  state  of  mind.  The  hours  flew  by  swiftly, 
however,  for  every  moment  she  could  steal  away  from 
her  household  cares  was  devoted  to  preparation  for 
her  flight.  Her  small  stock  of  clothing  was  gathered 
and  got  in  readiness  for  her  departure.  A  few  hours, 
indeed,  would  have  been  sufficient  to  have  efi'ected  all 
her  little  arrangements,  for  she  could  boast  but  a 
scanty  wardrobe,  the  whole  of  which  might  be  con- 
tained in  a  small  bundle.  Yet  the  arranging  and  re- 
adjusting of  the  few  articles  served  to  employ  her 
mind,  and  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  suspense  to  which 
she  would  otherwise  have  been  subjected. 

At  last  all  was  completed,  and  the  eventful  night  had 
arrived.  The  last  duty  of  the  day  was  discharged  with 
a  feeling  of  joyful  relief  as  she  thought  that  that  was 
the  last  time  she  would  be  subjected  to  the  perform- 
ance of  an  involuntary  servitude.  As  the  hour  drew 
near,  her  spirits  recovered  their  wonted  buoyancy; 
and  when,  after  retiring  to  her  chamber,  she  heard  the 
key  turn  as  usual  in  the  lock,  she  broke  out  into  a 
smothered  laugh,  and  gayly  muttered,  "  Ah,  Monsieur 
Bovais !  when  the  cage  is  found  empty,  you  will  have 
the  credit  of  this  night's  adventure ;  on  your  poor 
head  will  be  poured  the  wrath  of  Monsieur  Lemoine." 
Then,  as  if  a  thought  had  at  that  moment  suggested 
itself,  she  took  a  piece  of  paper,  and,  writing  upon  it, 
"  Ce  que  femme  veut,  Dieu  le  veut.  Bon  jour,  Mon- 
sieur Lemoine ! "  affixed  it  to  her  unpressed  pillow. 


THE    CANADIAN    CAPTIVE.  419 

Having  indulged  in  this  malicious  prank,  she  arranged 
herself  for  flight,  extinguished  the  light,  and  took  her 
place  at  the  window  to  await  the  arrival  of  her  de- 
liverer. 

It  was  a  favorable  night  for  their  purpose.  There 
was  no  moon,  but  the  stars  gave  light  sufficient  to  aid 
without  betraying  their  movements.  It  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  analyze  Mary's  feelings  as  she  stood  there 
counting  the  moments  that  brought  nearer  and  nearer 
the  designated  hour.  Rapidly  her  thoughts  ran  over 
all  that  had  transpired  since  the  night  of  her  seizure. 
The  terrible  death-scene  of  her  brother-in-law,  her  pain- 
ful journey  through  the  wilderness,  the  perils  and 
sufferings  which  attended  every  step,  her  arrival  at 
Quebec,  and  her  long  servitude  under  Monsieur  Le- 
moine,  all  passed  through  her  mind.  Then  came 
thoughts  of  the  home  and  the  dear  ones  from  whom 
she  had  been  so  long  separated,  and  of  the  surprise 
her  unexpected  return  would  create,  and  of  the  joy 
which  would  await  her.  Absorbed  in  these  reflections, 
time  passed  unheeded,  until  the  midnight-bell  pro- 
claimed the  hour  in  which  her  captivity  was  to  end. 

Barely  had  the  sound  died  away,  when,  prompt  to 
the  moment,  the  young  captain  stood  beneath  her 
casement,  and,  after  an  exchange  of  salutations,  whis- 
pered, "  Is  the  coast  clear  ?  " 

"  All  clear,"  was  Mary's  brief  response. 

"Have  you  everything  in  readiness?'' 

"Yes." 

"  Good  !  take  this,  then,"  said  the  captain,  "  and  be 
sure  and  secure  it  well."  And,  by  the  aid  of  a  long 
pole,  a  rope  was  placed  within  Mary's  reach.  A  slip- 
noose  had  been  prepared  in  the  end,  which  Mary  threw 


420  FOREST  AND   SHORE.' 

over  the  bed-post,  previously  placed  in  a  suitable 
position  near  the  window. 

^^  Wait  a  moment,  Miss  Finney,  and  let  me  see  if  all 
is  right,"  said  the  captain.  And,  seizing  the  rope, 
with  scarcely  an  effort,  he  mounted  to  the  chamber 
window.  ''  It  will  answer  to  a  charm,"  said  he  ;  ^'  al- 
though I  fear,  Miss  Finney,  you  will  find  it  rather  an 
awkward  mode  of  descent.  However,  I  have  spliced 
in  billets  of  wood ;  at  intervals,  which  will  serve  as 
footholds,  and  aid  your  descent." 

Instructing  her  how  to  proceed,  and  cautioning  her 
not  to  be  in  too  much  haste,  the  captain  returned  to 
the  ground. 

"  Now,  Miss  Finney,  throw  us  your  bundle,"  said  the 
captain.  "Be  sure  and  grasp  the  rope  firmly,"  he 
continued,  "  and  plant  your  feet  securely  on  the  bits 
of  wood ; "  adding,  jocosely,  for  the  purpose  of  encour- 
aging her,  "like  most  important  undertakings,  you 
will  find  the  first  step  to  be  the  most  difficult." 

Our  fair  readers  will  appreciate  the  embarrassing 
situation  of  poor  Mary,  and  readily  award  to  her  their 
meed  of  sympathy.  She  made  many  fruitless  attempts 
before  she  succeeded  in  obtaining  egress  from  the 
window ;  but,  when  she  fairly  got  the  "  hang  of  the 
rope,"  she  almost  equalled  the  activity  of  the  captain 
in  reaching  terra-firma."^ 

"  Bravo  !  "  said  he,  as  he  stood  by  to  assist  her  as 
she  let  go  of  the  rope.  "  That  feat  would  do  credit 
to  Jack  himself!  Now  take  my  arm.  Miss  Finney  ;  we 
have  some  distance  to  walk.  We  must  leave  the  rope," 
said  he,  with  a  light  laugh ;  "'  it  may  come  in  play  as  a 

♦  The  flight  of  Miss  Finney  from  the  house  was  through  a  window,  aa 
we  have  described  it,  aided  by  a  rope  furnished  by  the  captain. 


TIIK    CAXADJAX    TAPTIVE.  421 

halter,  should  old  Lemoine  feel  in  the  hanging  mood 
when  he  discovers  your  absence." 

With  what  feehngs  Mary  took  the  proffered  arm, 
and  proceeded  through  the  darkened  streets  of  Quebec 
towards  the  river-side,  we  must  leave  the  reader  to 
imagine. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

After  a  rapid  walk  our  adventurers  arrived  at  a 
quay,  where  a  boat  with  four  oarsmen  was  in  waiting, 
the  ship  being  in  the  stream,  having  dropped  down 
the  river  a  little  distance  below  the  city  in  readiness 
to  trip  her  anchor  early  in  the  morning.  Having  seen 
his  companion  safely  on  board,  Captain  McLellan 
handed  her  a  cloak. 

"  Take  this,  Miss  Finney,"  said  he,  "  and  wrap  your- 
self close,  for  you  will  find  the  night  air  on  the  river 
damp  and  chilly."  Then,  taking  the  tiller,  he  addressed 
his  men :  '•  Now,  my  good  fellows,  give  way  with  a 
will.  Dip  your  oars  lightly,  lads,  and  let  not  a  word 
be  spoken." 

Scarcely  a  sound  was  heard,  save  the  ripple  at  the 
bow,  as  the  boat  shot  rapidly  from  the  shore  and  pro- 
ceeded down  the  river,  the  row-locks  having  been 
muffled  to  prevent  noise.  Not  a  word  was  uttered  by 
either  party  as  the  boat  glided  on  her  way.  The  feel- 
ings of  Mary  were  too  intense  to  permit  her  to  enter 
into  conversation.  The  sense  of  freedom,  of  having 
escaped  from  a  hated  bondage,  of  being  in  entire 
iafety,  gurrounded  by  friends,  ready  with  stout  armi 
36 


422  FOREST   AND    SHORE. 

and  brave  hearts  to  protect  her  from  harm;  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  even  then  on  her  way  towards  her 
long  sighed-for  home  ;  these,  with  the  circumstances 
which  surrounded  her,  the  obscurity  of  the  night,  the 
swift  though  lulling  motion  of  the  boat,  all  served  to 
flood  her  heart  with  emotions  too  deep  and  vivid  for 
mere  words.  Tears  swelled  to  her  lids,  but  there  was 
no  bitterness  in  those  tears.  The  source  whence  they 
sprung  was  one  of  unalloyed  happiness,  from  those 
deep  fountains  of  joy  which  rarely  in  a  life  experience, 
often  never,  are  opened. 

Appreciating  her  silence,  her  companion  did  not 
obtrude  his  conversation,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
order  was  given  to  unship  the  oars,  and  the  boat 
grazed  the  side  of  the  ship,  that  Mary  was  aroused 
from  her  reverie.  When  she  stood  on  the  deck,  the 
captain  cordially  congratulated  her  on  her  escape,  and 
welcomed  her  on  board.  Then,  leading  her  to  the 
cabin,  she  was  invited  to  partake  of  some  refresh- 
ments which  were  in  readiness,  after  which  he  intro- 
duced her  to  an  airy,  commodious  state-room,  wliich 
he  had  furnished  with  every  convenience  that  could 
conduce  to  her  comfort. 

As  he  was  on  the  point  of  bidding  her  good-night, 
Mary  extended  her  hand,  and,  with  a  voice  tremulous 
with  emotion,  said:  "  If  I  have  been  backward  in 
thanking  you  for  your  disinterested  services  in  my 
behalf.  Captain  McLellan,  be  assured,  sir,  it  is  not 
from  lack  of  grateful  feehngs  ;  but  solely  because  I 
could  not  find  words  to  express  my  gratitude '' 

"  Poh !  poh  I  my  dear  Miss  Finney,''  exclaimed  the 
captain,  interrupting  her ;  "  say  not  a  worS  about  grat 
itude.      There  ia   not   a  man  who   would   not  have 


THE    CANADIAN   CAPTIVE.  423 

jumped  at  the  chance  of  doing  what  I  have  done. 
Rest  assured  that  the  satisfaction  of  restoring  you  to 
your  friends  will  more  than  repay  me  for  the  little 
trouble  I  have  incurred.  Good-night,  or  rather  good- 
morning  ! "  and,  squeezing  the  plump  little  hand  he  held, 
the  gallant  captain  turned  away  with  a  glow  on  his 
cheek,  and  a  warmer  glow  in  his  heart. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  morning  Mary  was  awa- 
kened by  the  tramping  of  feet  over  her  head,  and  the 
hearty  "  yo-heave-ho  "  of  the  men  at  the  windlass. 
For  a  while  she  was  bewildered,  and  could  not  account 
for  the  strangeness  of  her  situation.  A  moment's  re- 
flection was  sufficient  for  her  to  realize  the  change  in 
her  condition.  The  thrilling  emotions  that  agitated 
her  heart  would  not  suffer  her  to  remain  quiescent; 
and,  leaving  her  comfortable  berth,  she  hastily  arrayed 
herself  preparatory  to  going  on  deck. 

The  sun  had  just  risen  as  she  ascended  the  compan- 
ion-way. A  slight  breeze  rippled  the  river,  and  under 
a  cloud  of  canvas  the  ship  was  gliding  swiftly  down 
the  St.  Lawrence.  Behind  her  lay  Quebec,  the  scene 
of  her  weary  captivity,  while  before  her  the  broad 
river  stretched  far  away,  glistening  in  the  early  beams 
of  the  sun.  The  scene  was  both  strange  and  beauti- 
ful to  Mary.  The  white-winged  ship  moving  in  grace- 
ful majesty,  the  passing  shore  clothed  in  the  fresh 
livery  of  early  summer,  the  glittering  expanse  of 
water  in  front,  and  the  long  wake,  catching  and  re- 
flecting the  sun's  rays,  as  if  the  ship's  keel  had  turned 
up  a  furrow  of  snowy  pearls  and  blazing  gems, —  on 
these  as  they  opened  to  her  sight  she  gazed  silent  and 
spell-bound,  and  was  only  roused  from  her  abstraction 
by  the  cheery  voice  of  the  captain. 


424  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

'*  Good-morning,  Miss  Finney.  We  have  a  fair 
breeze  aloft,  and  a  promise  of  favorable  weather.  The 
Jane  bowls  oil*  as  if  conscious  of  having  a  fugitive  on 
board.  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  stirring  at  so  early 
an  hour.     I  trust  you  rested  well?  " 

Mary  responded  to  the  salutation,  and  tendered  her 
acknowledgments  anew  for  the  services  he  had  ren- 
dered. The  captain  bowed,  and  then,  as  if  to  divert 
her  mind  from  the  subject,  led  her  aft  and  directed  her 
attention  to  the  various  striking  views  as  they  succes- 
sively presented  themselves. 

But  it  is  not  our  purpose  to  detail  all  that  transpired 
during  the  voyage.  Suffice  it  that,  after  a  very  favor- 
able passage,  the  good  ship  Jane  arrived  safely  at  Fal- 
mouth, now  Portland.  We  will  not  take  it  upon 
ourselves  to  say  that  the  captain  or  his  passenger  was 
much  rejoiced  when  the  ship  cast  anchor  in  Falmouth 
harbor.  The  truth  is,  those  charms  of  person  and 
mind  which  our  heroine  so  eminently  possessed,  and 
which  were  sufficiently  potent  to  have  won  the  admi- 
ration of  a  landsman  less  impressible  than  our  worthy 
captain,  proved  at  sea  —  where  such  things  are  rare 
luxuries  indeed  —  all-sufficient  to  secure  his  warmest 
devotion. 

Although  lately  in  the  condition  of  a  captive  serv- 
ing-girl, Mary  had  been  reared  and  educated  in  quite  a 
different  sphere.  Knowing  this,  the  captain  had  from 
the  first  treated  her  with  the  respect  of  an  equal.  The 
interest  which  her  friendless  and  forlorn  situation  had 
excited  in  the  outset  soon  ripened  into  a  tenderer  and 
deeper  feeling,  which  Mary,  whose  heart  was  already 
gratefully  enlisted  in  his  favor,  was  not  slow  to  reci\i- 
rocate ;  so  that  the  thrill  of  pleasure  which  the  pre 


THE   CANADIAN   CAPTITE.  425 

sure  of  hands  sent  to  eacli  heart  as  the  captain  assisted 
his  charge  over  the  ship's  side  into  the  boat,  clearly 
enough  betokened  that  they  vibrated  in  unison. 

We  might  possibly  add  to  the  interest  of  our  story 
by  describing  the  arrival  of  Mary  at  her  home,  and  of 
the  joyful  welcome  she  received  from  her  family  and 
friends ;  by  portraying  her  feehngs  as  she  again  took 
her  accustomed  place  in  the  endeared  domestic  circle, 
and  related  to  eager  and  untiring  auditors  the  story 
of  her  seizure,  long  captivity,  and  final  release.  But 
all  this,  for  want  of  space,  we  must  leave  to  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  reader. 

There  is  another  point  in  her  eventful  life  on  which 
we  would  willingly  dwell,  did  we  not  apprehend  that 
we  have  already  been  too  prolix  in  our  details ;  and 
that  is,  the  occasional  visits  of  her  rescuer  at  Freeport, 
which  in  a  short  time  grew  more  and  more  frequent, 
until,  one  fine  day,  he  left  the  place,  taking  with  him 
our  heroine,  a  happy,  blushing  bride. 

That  Mary  proved  an  excellent  housewife,  who  can 
doubt,  having  "  served  an  apprenticeship,"  as  she  often 
laughingly  remarked,  "  in  a  Frenchman's  kitchen.'* 
That  she  loved  and  was  beloved  by  her  lord,  we  have 
abundant  living  evidences  in  their  numerous  descend- 
ants, who  serve  to  swell  the  list  of  our  most  worthy 
and  respected  citizens. 

A  word  in  regard  to  the  other  characters  introduced 
into  our  story.  Little  Alice  grew  up  to  be  a  fine,  noble- 
hearted  girl,  and  in  process  of  time  became  the  wife 
of  Mr.  Clement  Skolfield,  of  Harpswell.  Jane  was 
married  to  Mr.  Joseph  Anderson,  of  Freeport.  We 
have  already  mentioned  that  the  sou  born  suosequent 
to  big  father's  death  was  the  progenitor  of  those  bear- 
36* 


426    ■  FOREST   AND   SHORE. 

ing  his  name  in  Freeport  and  Portland.  The  widow, 
w^e  are  informed,  afterwards  wedded  Colonel  George 
Rogers,  of  Georgetown,  who  removed  to  Freeport 
after  his  marriage.  Though  the  wife  of  another,  the 
scenes  of  that  fearful  night  were  never  eflfaced  from 
her  memory.  She  bore  to  her  grave  the  scar  in  her 
breast  occasioned  by  the  bullet  which  caused  the  death 
of  the  child  in  her  arms.  The  wound  in  her  heart  that 
grave  alone  healed. 


THE  END. 


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